LIBRARY 
UN  v-Rsmr  or 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 


Douglas  Warren 


1111111 

9401 


MARY-'GUSTA 


'There  he  stood  stock  still,  staring" 


[PAGE  398.] 


MARY-'GUSTA 


BY 


JOSEPH  C.  LINCOLN 

AUTHOR  OF  "THANKFUL'S  INHERITANCE,"  "KENT  KNOWLES:  'QUAHAUG,'"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
H.  M.  BRETT 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1916 


CopinaGHT,  1916,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"There   he   stood  stock   still,   staring"        .        Frontispiece 

FACING  FACE 

"Squeezed  in  between  Captain  Shad  and  Mr.  Hamilton, 
she  gazed  wide-eyed  at  the  houses  and  fields"     .        .       52 

"  'I  saw  you  sit  down  on  it'  " 130 

She  mustn't  know  we're  worried'"    ....    232 


it  ( 


MARY-'GUSTA 


CHAPTER  I 

ON  the  twentieth  day  of  April  in  the  year  19 — ,  the 
people — that  is,  a  majority  of  the  grown  people 
of  Ostable — were  talking  of  Marcellus  Hall  and 
Mary-'Gusta. 

A  part  of  this  statement  is  not  surprising.  The 
average  person,  no  matter  how  humble  or  obscure,  is 
pretty  certain  to  be  talked  about  on  the  day  of  his  funeral, 
and  Marcellus  was  to  be  buried  that  afternoon.  More 
over,  Marcellus  had  been  neither  humble  nor  obscure; 
also,  he  had  been  talked  about  a  good  deal  during  the 
fifty-nine  years  of  his  sojourn  on  this  planet.  So  it  is 
not  at  all  surprising  that  he  should  be  talked  about  now, 
when  that  sojourn  was  ended.  But  for  all  Ostable — yes, 
and  a  large  part  of  South  Harniss — to  be  engaged  in 
speculation  concerning  the  future  of  Mary-'Gusta  was 
surprising,  for,  prior  to  Marcellus's  death,  very  few  out 
side  of  the  Hall  household  had  given  her  or  her  future 
a  thought. 

On  this  day,  however,  whenever  or  wherever  the  name 
of  Marcellus  Hall  was  mentioned,  after  the  disposition  of 
Marcellus's  own  bones  had  been  discussed  and  those  of 
his  family  skeleton  disinterred  and  articulated,  the  con 
versation,  in  at  least  eight  cases  out  of  ten,  resolved  it 
self  into  a  guessing  contest,  having  as  its  problem  this 
query: 

i 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"What's  goin'  to  become  of  that  child?" 

For  example: 

Mr.  Bethuel  Sparrow,  local  newsgatherer  for  the 
O stable  Enterprise,  seated  before  his  desk  in  the  editorial 
sanctum,  was  writing  an  obituary  for  next  week's  paper, 
under  the  following  head: 

"A  Prominent  Citizen  Passes  Away." 

An  ordinary  man  would  probably  have  written  "Dies" ; 
but  Mr.  Sparrow,  being  a  young  and  very  new  reporter 
for  a  rural  weekly,  wrote  "Passes  Away"  as  more  ele 
gant  and  less  shocking  to  the  reader. 

It  is  much  more  soothing  and  refined  to  pass  away  than 
to  die — unless  one  happens  to  be  the  person  most  con 
cerned,  in  which  case,  perhaps,  it  may  make  little  dif 
ference. 

"The  Angel  of  Death,"  wrote  Mr.  Sparrow,  "passed 
through  our  midst  on  Tuesday  last  and  called  to  his  re 
ward  Captain  Marcellus  Hall,  one  of  Ostable's  most  well- 
known  and  influential  residents." 

A  slight  exaggeration  here.  Marcellus  had  lived  in 
Ostable  but  five  years  altogether  and,  during  the  last 
three,  had  taken  absolutely  no  part  in  town  affairs- 
political,  religious  or  social.  However,  "influential"  is 
a  good  word  and  usual  in  obituaries,  so  Bethuel  let  it 
stand.  He  continued: 

"Captain  Hall's  sudden  death " 

Erasure  of  "death"  and  substitution  of  "demise" 
Then: 

" — Was  a  shock  to  the  community  at  large.  It  hap 
pened  on  account  of "  More  erasures  and  substitu 
tions.  -It  was  the  result  of  his  taking  cold  owing 
to  exposure  during  the  heavy  southeast  rains  of  week 
before  last  which  developed  into  pneumonia.  He  grew 
rapidly  worse  and  passed  away  at  3.06  P.M.  on  Tuesday, 

2 


MARY-'GUSTA 

leaving  a  vacancy  in  our  midst  which  will  be  hard  to  fill, 
if  at  all.  Although  Captain  Hall  had  resided  in  Ostable 
but  a  comparatively  short  period,  he  was  well-known 
and  respected,  both  as  a  man  and " 

Here,  invention  failing,  Mr.  Sparrow  called  for  as 
sistance. 

"Hey,  Perce,"  he  hailed,  addressing  his  companion, 
Mr.  Percy  Clark,  who  was  busy  setting  type:  "What's 
a  good  word  to  use  here  ?  I  say  Marcellus  was  respected 
both  as  a  man — and  somethin'  else." 

"Hey?"  queried  Percy,  absently,  scanning  the  eight 
point  case.  "What  d'ye  say?" 

"I  asked  you  what  would  be  a  good  thing  to  go  with 
'man'?" 

"Hey?    I  don't  know.    Woman,  I  guess." 

"Aw,  cut  it  out.     Never  mind,  I  got  it: 

" — As  a  man  and  a  citizen.  Captain  Hall  was  fifty- 
nine  years  of  age  at  the  time  of  his  demise.  He  was 
born  in  South  Harniss  and  followed  the  sea  until  1871, 
when  he  founded  the  firm  of  Hall  and  Company,  which 
was  for  some  years  the  leading  dealer  in  fresh  and  salt 
fish  in  this  section  of  the  state.  When  the  firm 

"I  say,  Perce!  'Twouldn't  do  to  say  Marcellus  failed 
in  business,  would  it?  Might  seem  like  hintin'  at  that 
stuff  about  his  sister  and  the  rest  of  it.  Might  get  us 
into  trouble,  eh?" 

"Humph!  I  don't  know  who  with.  Everybody's 
talkin'  about  it,  anyway.  Up  to  the  boardin'  house 
they've  been  talking  about  mighty  little  else  ever  since 
he  died." 

"I  know,  but  talk's  one  thing  and  print's  another. 
I'm  goin'  to  leave  it  out. 

"When  the  firm  went  out  of  business  in  1879,  Captain 
Hall  followed  the  sea  again,  commanding  the  ships 

3 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Faraway,  Fair  Wind,  and  Treasure  Seeker,  and  the  bark 
Apollo.  Later  he  retired  from  the  sea  and  has  not  been 
active  in  the  same  or  otherwise  since.  In  1894  he 
married  Augusta  Bangs  Lathrop,  widow  of  the  late 
Reverend  Charles  Lathrop,  formerly  pastor  of  the  Con 
gregational  Church  in  this  town.  Captain  Hall  had  been 
residing  in  his  native  town,  South  Harniss,  but  after  his 
marriage  he  took  up  his  residence  in  Ostable,  purchasing 
the  residence  formerly  owned  by  Elnathan  Phinney  on 
Phinney's  Hill,  where  he  lived  until  his  lamented  demise. 
Mrs.  Hall  passed  away  in  1896.  The  sudden  removal  of 
Captain  Hall  from  our  midst  leaves  a  stepdaughter, 
Mary  Augusta  Lathrop,  aged  seven.  The " 

Here  Mr.  Sparrow's  train  of  thought  collided  with  the 
obstruction  which  was  derailing  many  similar  trains  in 
Ostable  and  South  Harniss. 

"I  say,  Perce,"  he  observed,  "what's  goin'  to  become 
of  that  kid  of  Marcellus's — his  wife's,  I  mean?  Mar- 
cellus  didn't  have  any  relations,  as  far  as  anybody  knows, 
and  neither  did  his  wife.  Who's  goin'  to  take  care  of 
Mary-'Gusta?" 

Percy  shook  his  head.  "Don't  know,"  he  answered. 
"That's  what  all  hands  are  askin'.  I  presume  likely  she'll 
be  looked  after.  Marcellus  left  plenty  of  money,  didn't 
he?  And  kids  with  money  can  generally  find  guard 
ians." 

"Yup,  I  guess  that's  so.  Still,  whoever  gets  her  will 
have  their  hands  full.  She's  the  most  old-fashioned, 
queerest  young-one  ever  I  saw." 

So  much  for  Mr.  Sparrow  and  his  fellow  laborer  for 
the  Enterprise.  Now  to  listen  for  a  moment  to  Judge 
Baxter,  who  led  the  legal  profession  of  Ostable;  and 
to  Mrs.  Baxter  who,  so  common  report  affirmed,  led 

4 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  Judge.  The  pair  were  upstairs  in  the  Baxter  house, 
dressing  for  the  funeral. 

"Daniel,"  declared  Mrs.  Baxter,  "it's  the  queerest 
thing  I  ever  heard  of.  You  say  they  don't  know — either 
of  them — and  the  child  herself  doesn't  know,  either." 

"That's  it,  Ophelia.  No  one  knows  except  myself. 
Captain  Hall  read  the  letter  to  me  and  put  it  in  my 
charge  a  year  ago." 

"Well,  I  must  say!" 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  said  it  at  the  time,  and  I've  been 
saying  it  to  myself  ever  since.  It  doesn't  mean  any 
thing;  that  is,  it  is  not  binding  legally,  of  course.  It's 
absolutely  unbusinesslike  and  unpractical.  Simply  a  let 
ter,  asking  them,  as  old  friends,  to  do  this  thing. 
Whether  they  will  or  not  the  Almighty  only  knows." 

"Well,  Daniel,  I  must  say  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you, 
as  his  lawyer,  would  have  let  him  do  such  a  thing.  Of 
course,  I  don't  know  either  of  them  very  well,  but,  from 
what  little  I've  heard,  I  should  say  they  know  as  much 
about  what  they  would  be  supposed  to  do  as — as  you  do 
about  tying  a  necktie.  For  mercy  sakes  let  me  fix  it! 
The  knot  is  supposed  to  be  under  your  chin,  not  under 
your  ear  as  if  you  were  going  to  be  hung." 

The  Judge  meekly  elevated  the  chin  and  his  wife  pulled 
the  tie  into  place. 

"And  so,"  she  said,  "they  can  say  yes  or  no  just  as 
they  like." 

"Yes,  it  rests  entirely  with  them." 

"And  suppose  they  say  no,  what  will  become  of  the 
child  then?" 

"I  can't  tell  you.  Captain  Hall  seemed  pretty  certain 
they  wouldn't  say  no." 

"Humph!  There!  Now  you  look  a  little  more  pre 
sentable.  Have  you  got  a  clean  handkerchief?  Well, 

5 


MARY-'GUSTA 

that's  an  unexpected  miracle;  I  don't  know  how  you 
happened  to  think  of  it.  When  are  you  going  to  speak 
with  them  about  it?" 

"Today,  if  they  come  to  the  funeral,  as  I  suppose  they 

will." 

"I  shall  be  in  a  fidget  until  I  know  whether  they  say 
yes  or  no.  And  whichever  they  say  I  shall  keep  on  fidget 
ing  until  I  see  what  happens  after  that.  Poor  little 
Mary-'Gusta !  I  wonder  what  will  become  of  her." 

The  Judge  shook  his  head. 

Over  the  road  between  South  Harniss  and  Ostable  a 
buggy  drawn  by  an  aged  white  horse  was  moving  slowly. 
On  the  buggy's  seat  were  two  men,  Captain  Shadrach 
Gould  and  Zoeth  Hamilton.  Captain  Gould,  big,  stout, 
and  bearded,  was  driving.  Mr.  Hamilton,  small,  thin, 
smooth-faced  and  white-haired,  was  beside  him.  Both 
were  obviously  dressed  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  Captain 
Shadrach's  blue,  Mr.  Hamilton's  black.  Each  wore  an 
uncomfortably  high  collar  and  the  shoes  of  each  had  been 
laboriously  polished.  Their  faces,  utterly  unlike  in  most 
respects,  were  very  solemn. 

"Ah  hum!"  sighed  Mr.  Hamilton. 

Captain  Shadrach  snorted  impatiently. 

"For  the  land  sakes  don't  do  that  again,  Zoeth,"  he 
protested.  "That's  the  tenth  'Ah  hum'  you've  cast  loose 
in  a  mile.  I  know  we're  bound  to  a  funeral  but  there  ain't 
no  need  of  tollin'  the  bell  all  the  way.  I  don't  like  it 
and  I  don't  think  Marcellus  would  neither,  if  he  could 
hear  you." 

"Perhaps  he  can  hear  us,  Shadrach,"  suggested  his 
companion,  mildly.  "Perhaps  he's  here  with  us  now ; 
who  can  tell?" 

"Humph !  Well,  if  he  is  then  I  know  he  don't  like  it. 

6 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Marcellus  never  made  any  fuss  whatever  happened,  and 
he  wouldn't  make  any  at  his  own  funeral  no  more  than 
at  anybody  else's.  That  wasn't  his  way.  Say  nothin' 
and  keep  her  on  the  course,  that  was  Marcellus.  I  swan 
I  can  hardly  make  it  seem  possible  that  he's  gone !" 

"Neither  can  I,  Shadrach.  And  to  think  that  you  and 
me,  his  old  partners  and  lifelong  chums  as  you  might 
say,  hadn't  seen  nor  spoken  to  him  for  over  two  years. 
It  makes  me  feel  bad.  Bad  and  sort  of  conscience- 
struck." 

"I  know;  so  it  does  me,  in  a  way.  And  yet  it  wasn't 
our  fault,  Zoeth.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Mar 
cellus  didn't  want  to  see  us.  We  was  over  to  see  him 
last  and  he  scarcely  said  a  word  while  we  was  there.  You 
and  me  did  all  the  talkin'  and  he  just  set  and  looked  at 
us — when  he  wasn't  lookin'  at  the  floor.  I  never  saw 
such  a  change  in  a  man.  We  asked — yes,  by  fire,  we 
fairly  begged  him  to  come  and  stay  with  us  for  a  spell, 
but  he  never  did.  Now  it  ain't  no  further  from  Ostable  to 
South  Harniss  than  it  is  from  South  Harniss  to  Ostable. 
If  he'd  wanted  to  come  he  could;  if  he'd  wanted  to  see 
us  he  could.  We  went  to  see  him,  didn't  we;  and  we 
had  a  store  and  a  business  to  leave.  He  ain't  had  any 
business  since  he  give  up  goin'  to  sea.  He " 

"Sshh!  Shh!"  interrupted  Mr.  Hamilton,  mildly, 
"don't  talk  that  way,  Shadrach.  Don't  find  fault  with 
the  dead." 

"Find  fault !  I  ain't  findin'  fault.  I  thought  as  much 
of  Marcellus  Hall  as  any  man  on  earth,  and  nobody  feels 
worse  about  his  bein*  took  than  I  do.  But  I'm  just 
sayin'  what  we  both  know's  a  fact.  He  didn't  want 
to  see  us;  he  didn't  want  to  see  nobody.  Since  his 
wife  died  he  lived  alone  in  that  house,  except  for  a  house 
keeper  and  that  stepchild,  and  never  went  anywhere  or 

7 


MARY-'GUSTA 

had  anybody  come  to  see  him  if  he  could  help  it.  A 
reg'lar  hermit— that's  what  he  was,  a  hermit,  like  Peleg 
Myrick  down  to  Setuckit  P'int.  And  when  I  think  what 
he  used  to  be,  smart,  lively,  able,  one  of  the  best  skippers 
and  smartest  business  men  afloat  or  ashore,  it  don't  seem 
possible  a  body  could  change  so.  'Twas  that  woman 
that  done  it,  that  woman  that  trapped  him  into  gettin' 
married." 

"Sshh!  Shh!  Shadrach;  she's  dead,  too.  And,  be 
sides,  I  guess  she  was  a  real  good  woman ;  everybody  said 
she  was." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  she  wasn't,  am  I?  What  I  say  is  she 
hadn't  no  business  marryin'  a  man  twenty  years  older'n 
she  was." 

"But,"  mildly,  "you  said  she  trapped  him.  Now  we 
don't  know " 

"Zoeth  Hamilton,  you  know  she  must  have  trapped 
him.  You  and  I  agreed  that  was  just  what  she  done. 
If  she  hadn't  trapped  him — set  a  reg'lar  seine  for  him 
and  hauled  him  aboard  like  a  school  of  mackerel — 'tain't 
likely  he'd  have  married  her  or  anybody  else,  is  it?  I 
ain't  married  nobody,  have  I  ?  And  Marcellus  was  years 
older'n  I  be." 

"Well,  well,  Shadrach!" 

"No,  'tain't  well;  it's  bad.  He's  gone,  and — and  you 
and  me  that  was  with  him  for  years  and  years,  his  very 
best  friends  on  earth  as  you  might  say,  wasn't  with  him 
when  he  died.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  he'd  have  stayed 
in  South  Harniss  where  he  belonged.  Consarn  women ! 
They're  responsible  for  more  cussedness  than  the  small 
pox.  'When  a  man  marries  his  trouble  begins';  that's 
gospel,  too." 

Zoeth  did  not  answer. 

Captain  Gould,  after  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  com- 

8 


MARY-'GUSTA 

panion,  took  a  hand  from  the  reins  and  laid  it  on  the 
Hamilton  knee. 

"I'm  sorry,  Zoeth,"  he  said,  contritely;  "I  didn't  mean 
to — to  rake  up  bygones;  I  was  blowin'  off  steam,  that's 
all.  I'm  sorry." 

"I  know,  Shadrach.    It's  all  right." 

"No,  'tain't  all  right;  it's  all  wrong.  Somebody  ought 
to  keep  a  watch  on  me,  and  when  they  see  me  beginnin' 
to  get  hot,  set  me  on  the  back  of  the  stove  or  some- 
wheres;  I'm  always  liable  to  bile  over  and  scald  the 
wrong  critter.  I've  done  that  all  my  life.  I'm  sorry, 
Zoeth,  you  know  I  didn't  mean " 

"I  know,  I  know.  Ah  hum !  Poor  Marcellus !  Here's 
the  first  break  in  the  old  firm,  Shadrach." 

"Yup.  You  and  me  are  all  that's  left  of  Hall  and 
Company.  That  is " 

He  stopped  short  just  in  time  and  roared  a  "Git  dap" 
at  the  horse.  He  had  been  on  the  point  of  saying  some 
thing  which  would  have  been  far  more  disastrous  than 
his  reference  to  the  troubles  following  marriage.  Zoeth 
was  apparently  not  curious.  To  his  friend's  great  relief 
he  did  not  wait  for  the  sentence  to  be  finished,  nor  did 
he  ask  embarrassing  questions.  Instead  he  said: 

"I  wonder  what's  goin'  to  become  of  that  child,  Mary 
Lathrop's  girl.  Who  do  you  suppose  likely  will  take 
charge  of  her?" 

"I  don't  know.  I've  been  wonderin'  that  myself, 
Zoeth." 

"Kind  of  a  cute  little  thing  she  was,  too,  as  I  recol 
lect  her.  I  presume  likely  she's  grown  up  consid'ble 
since.  You  remember  how  she  set  and  looked  at  us 
that  last  time  we  was  over  to  see  Marcellus,  Shadrach  ?" 

"Remember?  How  she  looked  at  me,  you  mean! 
Shall  I  ever  forget  it?  I'd  just  had  my  hair  cut  by  that 

9 


MARY-'GUSTA 

new  barber,  Sim  Ellis,  that  lived  here  'long  about  then, 
and  I  told  him  to  cut  off  the  ends.    He  thought  I  meant 
the  other  ends,  I  cal'late,  for  I  went  to  sleep  in  the  chair, 
same  as  I  generally  do,  and  when  I  woke  up  my  head 
looked  like  the  main  truck  of  the  old  Faraway.     All 
it  needed  was  to  have  the  bald  place  gilded.     I  give  you 
my  word  that  if  I  hadn't  been  born  with  my  ears  set 
wing  and  wing  like  a  schooner  runnin'  afore  the  wind 
I'd  have  been  smothered  when  I  put  my  hat  on — nothin' 
but  them  ears  kept  it  propped  up  off  my  nose.    You  re 
member  that  haircut,  Zoeth.    Well,  all  the  time  you  and 
me  was  in  Marcellus's  settin'-room  that  stepchild  of  his 
just  set  and  looked  at  my  head.     Never  took  her  eyes 
off  it.     If  she'd  said  anything  'twouldn't  have  been  so 
bad;  but  she  didn't — just  looked.    I  could  feel  my  bald 
spot  reddenin'  up  till  I  swan  to  man  I  thought  it  must 
be  breakin'  out  in  blisters.     'Never  see  anybody  that 
looked  just  like  me,  did  you,  Sis?'  I  says  to  her,  when 
I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.    'No,  sir,'  she  says,  solemn 
as  an  owl.    She  was  right  out  and  honest,  I'll  say  that 
for  her.    That's  the  only  time  Marcellus  laughed  while 
we  was  inside  that  house.    I  didn't  blame  him  much.    Ho, 
ho!    Well,  he  ain't  laughin'  now  and  neither  are  we — 
or  we  hadn't  ought  to  be.    Neither  is  the  child,  I  cal'late, 
poor  thing.    I  wonder  what  will  become  of  her." 

And  meanwhile  the  child  herself  was  vaguely,  and  in 
childish  fashion,  wondering  that  very  thing.  She  was 
in  the  carriage  room  of  the  barn  belonging  to  the  Hall 
estate— if  the  few  acres  of  land  and  the  buildings  owned 
by  the  late  Marcellus  may  be  called  an  estate— curled 
up  on  the  back  seat  of  the  old  surrey  which  had  been 
used  so  little  since  the  death  of  her  mother,  Augusta 
Hall,  four  years  before.  The  surrey  was  shrouded  from 

10 


MARY-'GUSTA 

top  to  floor  with  a  dust  cover  of  unbleached  muslin 
through  which  the  sunshine  from  the  carriage  room  win 
dows  filtered  in  a  mysterious,  softened  twilight.  The 
covered  surrey  was  a  favorite  retreat  of  Mary-'Gusta's. 
She  had  discovered  it  herself — which  made  it  doubly 
alluring,  of  course — and  she  seldom  invited  her  juvenile 
friends  to  share  its  curtained  privacy  with  her.  It  was 
her  playhouse,  her  tent,  and  her  enchanted  castle,  much 
too  sacred  to  be  made  common  property.  Here  she 
came  on  rainy  Saturdays  and  on  many  days  not  rainy 
when  other  children,  those  possessing  brothers  or  sisters, 
played  out  of  doors.  She  liked  to  play  by  herself,  to 
invent  plays  all  her  own,  and  these  other  children — 
"normal  children,"  their  parents  called  them — were  much 
too  likely  to  laugh  instead  of  solemnly  making  believe 
as  she  did.  Mary-'Gusta  was  not  a  normal  child;  she 
was  "that  queer  Lathrop  young-one" — had  heard  her 
self  so  described  more  than  once.  She  did  not  like  the 
phrase;  "queer"  was  not  so  bad — perhaps  she  was  queer 
— but  she  had  an  instinctive  repugnance  to  being  called 
a  young-one.  Birds  and  rabbits  had  young-ones  and  she 
was  neither  feathered  nor  furred. 

So  very  few  of  the  neighborhood  children  were  in 
vited  to  the  shaded  interior  of  the  old  surrey.  Her 
dolls — all  five  of  them — spent  a  good  deal  of  time  there 
and  David,  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  came  often,  usually 
under  compulsion.  When  David  had  kittens,  which  in 
teresting  domestic  event  took  place  pretty  frequently,  he 
— or  she — positively  refused  to  be  an  occupant  of  that 
surrey,  growling  and  scratching  in  a  decidedly  ungen- 
tlemanly — or  unladylike — manner.  Twice  Mary-'Gusta 
had  attempted  to  make  David  more  complacent  by  bring 
ing  the  kittens  also  to  the  surrey,  but  their  parent  had 
promptly  and  consecutively  seized  them  by  the  scruff  of 

ii 


MARY-'GUSTA 

their  necks  and  laboriously  lugged  them  up  to  the  hay 
mow  again. 

Just  now,  however,  there  being  no  kittens,  David  was 
slumbering  in  a  furry  heap  beside  Mary-'Gusta  at  one 
end  of  the  carriage  seat,  and  Rosette,  the  smallest  of  the 
five  dolls,  and  Rose,  the  largest,  were  sitting  bolt  up 
right  in  the  corner  at  the  other  end.  The  christening 
of  the  smallest  and  newest  doll  was  the  result  of  a  piece 
of  characteristic  reasoning  on  its  owner's  part.  She  was 
very  fond  of  the  name  Rose,  the  same  being  the  name 
of  the  heroine  in  "Eight  Cousins,"  which  story  Mrs. 
Bailey,  housekeeper  before  last  for  Marcellus  Hall,  had 
read  aloud  to  the  child.  When  the  new  doll  came,  at 
Christmas  time,  Mary-'Gusta  wished  that  she  might 
christen  it  Rose  also.  But  there  was  another  and  much 
beloved  Rose  already  in  the  family.  So  Mary-'Gusta  re 
flected  and  observed,  and  she  observed  that  a  big  roll  of 
tobacco  such  as  her  stepfather  smoked  was  a  cigar; 
while  a  little  one,  as  smoked  by  Eben  Keeler,  the  grocer's 
delivery  clerk,  was  a  cigarette.  Therefore,  the  big  doll 
being  already  Rose,  the  little  one  became  Rosette. 

Mary-'Gusta  was  not  playing  with  Rose  and  Rosette 
at  the  present  time.  Neither  was  she  interested  in  the 
peaceful  slumbers  of  David.  She  was  not  playing  at  all, 
but  sitting,  with  feet  crossed  beneath  her  on  the  seat  and 
hands  clasped  about  one  knee,  thinking.  And,  although 
she  was  thinking  of  her  stepfather  who  she  knew  had 
gone  away  to  a  vague  place  called  Heaven — a  place 
variously  described  by  Mrs.  Bailey,  the  former  house 
keeper,  and  by  Mrs.  Susan  Hobbs,  the  present  one,  and 
by  Mr.  Howes,  the  Sunday  school  superintendent — she 
was  thinking  most  of  herself,  Mary  Augusta  Lathrop, 
who  was  going  to  a  funeral  that  very  afternoon  and,  after 
that,  no  one  seemed  to  know  exactly  where. 

12 


MARY-'GUSTA 

It  was  a  beautiful  April  day  and  the  doors  of  the  car 
nage  house  and  the  big  door  of  the  barn  were  wide  open. 
Mary-'Gusta  could  hear  the  hens  clucking  and  the  voices 
of  people  talking.  The  voices  were  two:  one  was  that 
of  Mrs.  Hobbs,  the  housekeeper,  and  the  other  belonged 
to  Mr.  Abner  Hallett,  the  undertaker.  Mary-'Gusta  did 
not  like  Mr.  Hallett's  voice;  she  liked  neither  it  nor  its 
owner's  manner ;  she  described  both  voice  and  manner  to 
herself  as  "too  soothy."  They  gave  her  the  shivers. 

Mr.  Hallett's  tone  was  subdued  at  the  present  time, 
but  a  trifle  of  the  professional  "soothiness"  was  lacking. 
He  and  Mrs.  Hobbs  were  conversing  briskly  enough  and, 
although  Mary-'Gusta  could  catch  only  a  word  or  two  at 
intervals,  she  was  perfectly  sure  they  were  talking  about 
her.  She  was  certain  that  if  she  were  to  appear  at  that 
moment  in  the  door  of  the  barn  they  would  stop  talk 
ing  immediately  and  look  at  her.  Everybody  whom  she 
had  met  during  the  past  two  days  looked  at  her  in  that 
queer  way.  It  made  her  feel  as  if  she  had  something 
catching,  like  the  measles,  and  as  if,  somehow  or  other, 
she  was  to  blame. 

She  realized  dimly  that  she  should  feel  very,  very  badly 
because  her  stepfather  was  dead.  Mrs.  Hobbs  had  told 
her  that  she  should  and  seemed  to  regard  her  as  queerer 
than  ever  because  she  had  not  cried.  But,  according  to 
the  housekeeper,  Captain  Hall  was  out  of  his  troubles 
and  had  gone  where  he  would  be  happy  for  ever  and  ever. 
So  it  seemed  to  her  strange  to  be  expected  to  cry  on 
his  account.  He  had  not  been  happy  here  in  Ostable,  or, 
at  least,  he  had  not  shown  his  happiness  in  the  way  other 
people  showed  theirs.  To  her  he  had  been  a  big,  bearded 
giant  of  a  man,  whom  she  saw  at  infrequent  intervals 
during  the  day  and  always  at  night  just  before  she  went 
to  bed.  His  room,  with  the  old-fashioned  secretary 

13 


MARY-'GUSTA 

against  the  wall,  and  the  stuffed  gull  on  the  shelf,  and 
the  books  in  the  cupboard,  and  the  polished  narwhal  horn 
in  the  corner,  was  to  her  a  sort  of  holy  of  holies,  a  place 
where  she  was  led  each  evening  at  nine  o'clock,  at  first 
by  Mrs.  Bailey  and,  later,  by  Mrs.  Hobbs,  to  shake  the 
hand  of  the  big  man  who  looked  at  her  absently  over 
his  spectacles  and  said  good  night  in  a  voice  not  unkindly 
but  expressing  no  particular  interest.  At  other  times  she 
was  strictly  forbidden  to  enter  that  room. 

Occasionally,  but  very  rarely,  she  had  eaten  Sunday 
dinner  with  Marcellus.  She  and  the  housekeeper  usually 
ate  together  and  Mr.  Hall's  meals  were  served  in  what 
the  child  called  "the  smoke  room,"  meaning  the  apart 
ment  just  described,  which  was  at  all  times  strongly 
scented  with  tobacco.  The  Sunday  dinners  were  stately 
and  formal  affairs  and  were  prefaced  by  lectures  by  the 
housekeeper  concerning  sitting  up  straight  and  not  dis 
turbing  Cap'n  Hall  by  talking  too  much.  On  the  whole 
Mary-'Gusta  was  rather  glad  when  the  meals  were  over. 
She  did  not  dislike  her  stepfather;  he  had  never  been 
rough  or  unkind,  but  she  had  always  stood  in  awe  of 
him  and  had  felt  that  he  regarded  her  as  a  "pesky 
nuisance,"  something  to  be  fed  and  then  shooed  out  of 
the  way,  as  Mrs.  Hobbs  regarded  David,  the  cat.  As 
for  loving  him,  as  other  children  seemed  to  love  their 
fathers,  that  the  girl  never  did.  She  was  sure  he  did 
not  love  her  in  that  way,  and  that  he  would  not  have 
welcomed  demonstrations  of  affection  on  her  part.  She 
had  learned  the  reason,  or  she  thought  she  had :  she  was 
a  stepchild;  that  was  why,  and  a  stepchild  was  almost  as 
bad  as  a  "changeling"  in  a  fairy  story. 

Her  mother  she  remembered  dimly  and  with  that  recol 
lection  were  memories  of  days  when  she  was  loved  and 
made  much  of,  not  only  by  Mother,  but  by  Captain  Hall 

14 


MARY-'GUSTA 

also.  She  asked  Mrs.  Bailey,  whom  she  had  loved  and 
whose  leaving  was  the  greatest  grief  of  her  life,  some 
questions  about  these  memories.  Mrs.  Bailey  had  hugged 
her  and  had  talked  a  good  deal  about  Captain  Hall's 
being  a  changed  man  since  his  wife's  death.  "He  used 
to  be  so  different,  jolly  and  good-natured  and  sociable; 
you  wouldn't  know  him  now  if  you  seen  him  then.  When 
your  mamma  was  took  it  just  seemed  to  wilt  him  right 
down.  He  was  awful  sick  himself  for  a  spell,  and  when 
he  got  better  he  was  like  he  is  today.  Seems  as  if  he  died 
too,  as  you  might  say,  and  ain't  really  lived  since.  I'm 
awful  sorry  for  Cap'n  Marcellus.  You  must  be  real  good 
to  him  when  you  grow  up,  Mary-'Gusta." 

And  now  he  had  gone  before  she  had  had  a  chance  to 
grow  up,  and  Mary-'Gusta  felt  an  unreasonable  sense  of 
blame.  But  real  grief,  the  dreadful  paralyzing  realization 
of  loss  which  an  adult  feels  when  a  dear  one  dies,  she 
did  not  feel. 

She  was  awed  and  a  little  frightened,  but  she  did  not 
feel  like  crying.  Why  should  she? 

"Mary-'Gusta !    Mary-'Gusta !    Where  be  you  ?" 

It  was  Mrs.  Hobbs  calling.  Mary-'Gusta  hurriedly  un 
twisted  her  legs  and  scrambled  from  beneath  the  dust 
cover  of  the  surrey.  David,  whose  slumbers  were  dis 
turbed,  rose  also,  yawned  and  stretched. 

"Here  I  be,  Mrs.  Hobbs,"  answered  the  girl.  "I'm 
a-comin'." 

Mrs.  Hobbs  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  barn. 
Mary-'Gusta  noticed  that  she  was  not,  as  usual,  garbed 
in  gingham,  but  was  arrayed  in  her  best  go-to-meeting 
gown. 

"I'm  a-comin',"  said  the  child. 

"Comin',  yes.  But  where  on  earth  have  you  been  ?  I've 
been  hunting  all  over  creation  for  you.  I  didn't  sup- 

15 


MARY-'GUSTA 

pose  you'd  be  out  here,  on  this  day  of  all  others  with- 
with  that  critter,"  indicating  David,  who  appeared,  blink 
ing  sleepily.  . 

"I  must  say  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  be  fussm    along 
with  a  cat  today,"  declared  Mrs.  Hobbs. 

"Yes'm,"  said  Mary-'Gusta.  David  yawned,  apparently 
expressing  a  bored  contempt  for  housekeepers  in  general. 

"Come  right  along  into  the  house,"  continued  Mrs. 
Hobbs.  "It's  high  time  you  was  gettin'  ready  for  the 

funeral." 

"Ready?     How?"  queried  Mary-'Gusta. 

"Why,  changin'  your  clothes,  of  course." 

"Do  folks  dress  up  for  funerals?" 

"Course  they  do.    What  a  question !" 

"I  didn't  know.    I— I've  never  had  one." 

"Had  one?" 

"I  mean  I've  never  been  to  any.    What  do  they  dress 

up  for?" 

"Why — why,  because  they  do,  of  course.  Now  don't 
ask  any  more  questions,  but  hurry  up.  Where  are  you 
goin'  now,  for  mercy  sakes?" 

"I  was  goin'  back  after  Rose  and  Rosette.  They  ought 
to  be  dressed  up,  too,  hadn't  they?" 

"The  idea!  Playin'  dolls  today!  I  declare  I  never 
see  such  a  child !  You're  a  reg'lar  little— little  heathen. 
Would  you  want  anybody  playin'  dolls  at  your  own  fu 
neral,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

Mary-'Gusta  thought  this  over.  "I  don't  know,"  she 
answered,  after  reflection.  "I  guess  I'd  just  as  soon.  Do 
they  have  dolls  up  in  Heaven,  Mrs.  Hobbs?" 

"Mercy  on  us!  I  should  say  not.  Dolls  in  Heaven! 
The  idea!" 

"Nor  cats  either?" 

"No.    Don't  ask  such  wicked  questions." 
16 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary-'Gusta  asked  no  more  questions  of  that  kind,  but 
her  conviction  that  Heaven — Mrs.  Hobbs'  Heaven — was 
a  good  place  for  housekeepers  and  grown-ups  but  a  poor 
one  for  children  was  strengthened. 

They  entered  the  house  by  the  kitchen  door  and  as 
cended  the  back  stairs  to  Mary-'Gusta's  room.  The 
shades  in  all  the  rooms  were  drawn  and  the  house  was 
dark  and  gloomy.  The  child  would  have  asked  the  rea 
son  for  this,  but  at  the  first  hint  of  a  question  Mrs. 
Hobbs  bade  her  hush. 

"You  mustn't  talk,"  she  said. 

"Why  mustn't  I  ?" 

"Because  'tain't  the  right  thing  to  do,  that's  why.  Now 
hurry  up  and  get  dressed." 

Mary-'Gusta  silently  wriggled  out  of  her  everyday 
frock,  was  led  to  the  washstand  and  vigorously  scrubbed. 
Then  Mrs.  Hobbs  combed  and  braided  what  she  called 
her  "pigtails"  and  tied  a  bow  of  black  ribbon  at  the 
end  of  each. 

"There!"  exclaimed  the  lady.  "You're  clean  for  once 
in  your  life,  anyhow.  Now  hurry  up  and  put  on  them 
things  on  the  bed." 

The  things  were  Mary-'Gusta's  very  best  shoes  and 
dress ;  also  a  pair  of  new  black  stockings. 

When  the  dressing  was  finished  the  housekeeper  stood 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  walked  about  her  on 
a  final  round  of  inspection. 

"There!"  she  said  again,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 
"Nobody  can  say  I  ain't  took  all  the  pains  with  you  that 
anybody  could.  Now  you  come  downstairs  and  set  right 
where  I  tell  you  till  I  come.  And  don't  you  say  one 
single  word.  Not  a  word,  no  matter  what  happens." 

She  took  the  girl's  hand  and  led  her  down  the  front 
stairs.  As  they  descended  Mary-'Gusta  could  scarcely 

17 


MARY-'GUSTA 

restrain  a  gasp  of  surprise.  The  front  door  was  open— 
the  front  door— and  the  child  had  never  seen  it  open 
before,  had  long  ago  decided  that  it  was  not  a  truly  door 
at  all,  but  merely  a  make-believe  like  the  painted  win 
dows  on  the  sides  of  her  doll  house.  But  now  it  was 
wide  open  and  Mr.  Hallett,  arrayed  in  a  suit  of  black,  the 
coat  of  which  puckered  under  the  arms,  was  standing  on 
the  threshold,  looking  more  soothy  than  ever.  The  parlor 
door  was  open  also,  and  the  parlor  itself— the  best  first 
parlor,  more  sacred  and  forbidden  even  than  the  "smoke 
room"— was,  as  much  of  it  as  she  could  see,  filled  with 
chairs. 

Mrs.  Hobbs  led  her  into  the  little  room  off  the  parlor, 
the  "back  settin'-room,"  and,  indicating  the  haircloth  and 
black  walnut  sofa  against  the  wall,  whispered  to  her  to 
sit  right  there  and  not  move. 

"Mind  now,"  she  whispered,  "don't  talk  and  don't  stir. 
I'll  be  back  by  and  by." 

Mary-'Gusta,  left  alone,  looked  wide-eyed  about  the  lit 
tle  back  sitting-room.  It,  too,  was  changed ;  not  changed 
as"  much  as  the  front  parlor,  but  changed,  nevertheless. 
Most  of  the  furniture  had  been  removed.  The  most  com 
fortable  chairs,  including  the  rocker  with  the  parrot  "tidy" 
on  the  back,  had  been  taken  away.  One  or  two  of  the 
bolt-upright  variety  remained  and  the  "music  chair"  was 
still  there,  but  pushed  back  into  a  corner. 

Mary-'Gusta  saw  the  music  chair  and  a  quiver  of  guilty 
fear  tinged  along  her  spine ;  that  particular  chair  had  al 
ways  been,  to  her,  the  bright,  particular  glory  of  the 
house.  Not  because  it  was  beautiful,  for  that  it  dis 
tinctly  was  not;  but  because  of  the  marvellous  secret 
hidden  beneath  its  upholstered  seat.  Captain  Marcellus 
had  brought  it  home  years  and  years  before,  when  he 
was  a  sea-going  bachelor  and  made  voyages  to  Hamburg. 

18 


MARY-'GUSTA 

In  its  normal  condition  it  was  a  perfectly  quiet  and  ugly 
chair,  but  there  was  a  catch  under  one  arm  and  a  music 
box  under  the  seat.  And  if  that  catch  were  released, 
then  when  anyone  sat  in  it,  the  music  box  played  "The 
Campbell's  Are  Coming"  with  spirit  and  jingle.  And, 
moreover,  kept  on  playing  it  to  the  finish  unless  the  catch 
was  pushed  back  again. 

To  Mary-'Gusta  that  chair  was  a  perpetual  fascination. 
She  had  been  expressly  forbidden  to  touch  it,  had  been 
shut  in  the  dark  closet  more  than  once  for  touching  it; 
but,  nevertheless,  the  temptation  was  always  there  and 
she  had  yielded  to  that  temptation  at  intervals  when 
Mrs.  Hobbs  and  her  stepfather  were  out.  And  the  last 
time  she  had  touched  it  she  had  broken  the  catch.  She 
had  wound  up  the  music  box,  after  hearing  it  play,  but 
the  catch  which  made  it  a  perfectly  safe  seat  and  not  a 
trap  for  the  unwary  had  refused  to  push  back  into  place. 
And  now  there  it  was,  loaded  and  primed,  so  to  speak, 
and  she  was  responsible.  Suppose — Oh,  horrible  thought ! 
— suppose  anyone  should  sit  in  it  that  afternoon ! 

She  gasped  and  jumped  off  the  sofa.  Then  she  re 
membered  Mrs.  Hobbs'  parting  command  and  stopped, 
hesitating.  Mr.  Hallett,  standing  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
by  the  front  door,  heard  her  move  and  tiptoed  to  the 
sitting-room. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  girl?"  he  whispered,  sooth 
ingly. 

"No-nothin',"  gasped  Mary-'Gusta. 

"You're  sure?" 

"Ye-yes,  sir." 

"All  right.  Then  you  set  down  on  the  sofa  and  keep 
still.  You  mustn't  make  any  noise.  The  folks  are  comin' 
now.  Set  right  down  on  the  sofy,  that's  a  good 
girl!" 

19 


MARY-'GUSTA 

So  back  to  the  sofa  went  Mary-'Gusta,  trembling  with 
apprehension.  From  her  seat  she  could  see  along  the 
hall  and  also  through  the  other  door  into  the  "big  settin'- 
room,"  where,  also,  there  were  rows  of  chairs.  And,  to 
her  horror,  these  chairs  began  to  fill.  People,  most  of 
them  dressed  in  church-going  garments  which  rattled  and 
rustled,  were  tiptoeing  in  and  sitting  down  where  she 
could  see  them  and  they  could  see  her.  She  did  not  dare 
to  move  now ;  did  not  dare  go  near  the  music  chair  even  if 
going  near  it  would  have  done  any  good.  She  re 
mained  upon  the  sofa,  and  shivered. 

A  few  moments  later  Mrs.  Hobbs  appeared,  looking 
very  solemn  and  Sundayfied,  and  sat  beside  her.  Then 
Judge  and  Mrs.  Baxter  were  shown  into  the  little  room 
and  took  two  of  the  remaining  chairs.  The  Judge  bowed 
and  smiled  and  Mrs.  Baxter  leaned  over  and  patted  her 
hand.  Mary-'Gusta  tried  to  smile,  too,  but  succeeded  only 
in  looking  more  miserable.  Mrs.  Hobbs  whispered  to  her 
to  sit  up  straight. 

There  was  a  steady  stream  of  people  through  the  front 
door  now.  They  all  entered  the  parlor  and  many  stayed 
there,  but  others  passed  on  into  the  "big  settin'-room." 
The  chairs  there  were  almost  all  taken;  soon  all  were 
taken  and  Mr.  Hallett  was  obliged  to  remove  one  of  those 
in  the  small  room.  There  were  but  two  left  empty,  one  a 
tall,  straight  antique  with  a  rush  seat,  a  family  heirloom, 
and  the  other  the  music  chair.  Mary-'Gusta  stared  at  the 
music  chair  and  hoped  and  hoped. 

Mr.  Sharon,  the  minister,  entered  and  shook  hands 
with  the  Judge  and  Mrs.  Baxter  and  with  Mrs.  Hobbs 
and  Mary-'Gusta.  He  also  patted  the  child's  hand.  Mrs. 
Hobbs  whispered  to  him,  with  evident  pride,  that  it  was 
"goin'  to  be  one  of  the  biggest  funerals  ever  given  in 
Ostable."  Mr.  Sharon  nodded.  Then,  after  waiting  a 

20 


MARY-'GUSTA 

moment  or  two,  he  tiptoed  along  the  front  hall  and  took 
up  his  stand  by  the  parlor  door.  There  was  a  final  rustle 
of  gowns,  a  final  crackle  of  Sunday  shirtfronts,  and  then 
a  hushed  silence. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  rattle  of  wheels  in  the 
yard.  Mr.  Hallett  at  the  door  held  up  a  warning  hand. 
A  moment  later  he  ushered  two  people  in  at  the  front 
door  and  led  them  through  the  parlor  into  the  "big  settin'- 
room."  Mary-'Gusta  could  see  the  late  comers  plainly. 
They  were  both  men,  one  big  and  red-faced  and  bearded, 
the  other  small,  and  thin,  and  white-haired.  A  rustle 
passed  through  the  crowd  and  everyone  turned  to  look. 
Some  looked  as  if  they  recognized  the  pair,  but  they 
did  not  bow;  evidently  it  was  not  proper  to  bow  at 
funerals. 

Mr.  Hallett,  on  tiptoe,  of  course,  glided  into  the  little 
room  from  the  big  one  and  looked  about  him.  Then, 
to  the  absolute  stupefaction  of  Mary-'Gusta,  he  took  the 
rush-seated  chair  in  one  hand  and  the  music  chair  in  the 
other  and  tiptoed  out.  He  placed  the  two  chairs  in  the 
back  row  close  to  the  door  of  the  smaller  room  and 
motioned  to  the  two  men  to  sit. 

Mary-'Gusta  could  stand  it  no  longer.  She  was  afraid 
of  Mrs.  Hobbs,  afraid  of  Mr.  Hallett,  afraid  of  the 
Baxters  and  all  the  staring  crowd;  but  she  was  more 
afraid  of  what  was  going  to  happen.  She  tugged  at 
the  housekeeper's  sleeve. 

"Mrs.  Hobbs !"  she  whispered,  quiveringly.  "Oh,  Mrs. 
Hobbs!" 

Mrs.  Hobbs  shook  off  the  clutch  at  her  sleeve. 

"Sshh !"  she  whispered.    "Sshh !" 

"But— but  please,  Mrs.  Hobbs " 

"Sshh!  You  mustn't  talk.  Be  still.  Be  still,  I  tell 
you." 

21 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  small,  white-haired  man  sat  down  in  the  rush- 
seated  chair.  The  big  man  hesitated,  separated  his  coat 
tails,  and  then  he,  too,  sat  down. 

And  the  music  box  under  the  seat  of  the  chair  he  sat 
in  informed  everyone  with  cheerful  vigor  that  the  Camp 
bells  were  coming,  Hurrah !  Hurrah ! 

Captain  Shadrach  Gould  arose  from  that  chair,  arose 
promptly  and  without  hesitation.  Mr.  Zoeth  Hamilton 
also  rose ;  so  did  many  others  in  the  vicinity.  There  was 
a,  stir  and  a  rustle  and  whispered  exclamations.  And 
still  the  news  of  the  imminent  arrival  of  the  Camp 
bells  was  tinkled  abroad  and  continued  to  tinkle.  Some 
one  giggled,  so  did  someone  else.  Others  said, 
"Hush!" 

Mrs.  Judge  Baxter  said,  "Heavens  and  earth !" 

Mrs.  Hobbs  looked  as  if  she  wished  to  say  something 
very  much  indeed. 

Captain  Shadrach's  bald  spot  blazed  a  fiery  red  and 
he  glared  about  him  helplessly. 

Mr.  Hallett,  who  was  used  to  unexpected  happenings 
at  funerals — though,  to  do  him  justice,  he  had  never 
before  had  to  deal  with  anything  quite  like  this — rushed 
to  the  center  of  the  disturbance.  Mrs.  Hobbs  hastened 
to  help.  Together  and  with  whisperings,  they  fidgeted 
with  the  refractory  catch.  And  still  the  music  box 
played — and  played — and  played. 

At  last  Mr.  Hallett  gave  it  up.  He  seized  the  chair 
and  with  it  in  his  arms  rushed  out  into  the  dining- 
room.  Captain  Shadrach  Gould  mopped  his  face  with 
a  handkerchief  and  stood,  because  there  was  nowhere 
for  him  to  sit.  Mrs.  Hobbs,  almost  as  red  in  the 
face  as  Captain  Shad  himself,  hastened  back  and 
collapsed  upon  the  sofa.  Mr.  Sharon  cleared  his 
throat. 

22 


MARY-'GUSTA 

And  still,  from  behind  the  closed  door  of  the  dining- 
room  the  music  chair  tinkled  on : 

"The  Campbells  are  coming !  Hurrah !  Hurrah !" 
Poor  little  guilty,  frightened  Mary-'Gusta  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  II 

AND  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Judge  Baxter,  "here  we 
are.  Sit  down  and  make  yourselves  comfortable. 
I  shall  have  a  good  deal  to  say  and  I  expect  to 
surprise  you.  Sit  down." 

Captain  Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton  were  in  the  Judge's 
library  at  his  home.  The  funeral  was  over,  all  that  was 
mortal  of  Marcellus  Hall  had  been  laid  to  rest  in  the 
Ostable  cemetery,  and  his  two  friends  and  former  part 
ners  had,  on  their  return  from  that  cemetery,  stopped 
at  the  Judge's,  at  the  latter's  request.  He  wished,  so  he 
said,  to  speak  with  them  on  an  important  matter. 

"Why  don't  you  sit  down,  Captain  ?"  asked  the  Judge, 
noticing  that,  although  Zoeth  had  seated  himself  in  the 
rocker  which  his  host  had  indicated,  Shadrach  was  still 
standing. 

Captain  Shadrach  laid  a  hand  on  the  back  of  the  arm 
chair  and  regarded  the  lawyer  with  a  very  grave  face, 
but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Judge,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  don't 
cal'late  I  ever  shall  set  down  again  quite  so  whole-hearted 
as  I  used  to.  You  spoke  of  a  surprise,  didn't  you?  I've 
had  one  surprise  this  afternoon  that's  liable  to  stay  with 
me  for  a  spell.  I'm  an  unsuspectin'  critter,  generally 
speakin',  but  after  that — Say,  you  ain't  got  a  brass  band 
nor  fireworks  hitched  to  t his  chair,  have  you  ?" 

Judge  Baxter  laughed  heartily.  "No,"  he  said,  as  soon 
as  he  could  speak.  "No,  Captain,  my  furniture  isn't 
loaded." 

24 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "Whew!"  he  whistled, 
sitting  down  gingerly  in  the  armchair.  "Well,  that's  a 
mercy.  I  ain't  so  young  as  I  used  to  be  and  I  couldn't 
stand  many  such  shocks.  Whew!  Don't  talk  to  me! 
When  that  devilish  jig  tune  started  up  underneath  me 
I'll  bet  I  hopped  up  three  foot  straight.  I  may  be  kind 
of  slow  sittin'  down,  but  you'll  bear  me  out  that  I  can 
get  up  sudden  when  it's  necessary.  And  I  thought  the 
dum  thing  never  would  stop!" 

Mr.  Hamilton  stirred  uneasily.  "Hush,  hush,  Shad- 
rach!"  he  pleaded.  "Don't  be  so  profane.  Remember 
you've  just  come  from  the  graveyard." 

"Come  from  it!  By  fire!  There  was  a  time  there 
when  I'd  have  been  willin'  to  go  to  it — yes,  and  stay. 
All  I  wanted  was  to  get  out  of  that  room  and  hide 
somewheres  where  folks  couldn't  look  at  me.  I  give  you 
my  word  I  could  feel  myself  heatin'  up  like  an  airtight 
stove.  Good  thing  I  didn't  have  on  a  celluloid  collar 
or  'twould  have  bust  into  a  blaze.  Of  all  the  dummed 
outrages  to  spring  on  a  man,  that " 

"Shadrach !" 

"There,  there,  Zoeth !  I'll  calm  down.  But  as  for 
swearin' — well,  if  you  knew  how  full  of  cusswords  I  was 
there  one  spell  you  wouldn't  find  fault;  you'd  thank  me 
for  holdin'  'em  in.  I  had  to  batten  down  my  hatches  to 
do  it,  though;  I  tell  you  that." 

Mr.  Hamilton  turned  to  their  host.  "You'll  excuse 
Shadrach,  won't  you,  Judge,"  he  said,  apologetically. 
"He  don't  mean  nothin'  wicked,  really.  And  he  feels  as 
bad  as  I  do  about  Marcellus's  bein'  took." 

"Course  I  do !"  put  in  the  Captain.  "Zoeth's  always 
scared  to  death  for  fear  I'm  bound  to  the  everlastin' 
brimstone.  He  forgets  I've  been  to  sea  a  good  part  of 
my  life  and  that  a  feller  has  to  talk  strong  aboard  ship. 

25 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Common  language  may  do  for  keepin'  store,  but  it  don't 
get  a  vessel  nowheres ;  the  salt  sort  of  takes  the  tang  out 
of  it,  seems  so.  I'm  through  for  the  present,  Zoeth. 
I'll  keep  the  rest  till  I  meet  the  swab  that  loaded  up  that 
chair  for  me." 

The  Judge  laughed  again.  Then  he  opened  his  desk 
and  took  from  a  drawer  two  folded  papers. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  gravely,  "I  asked  you  to  come 
here  with  me  because  there  is  an  important  matter,  a  very 
important  matter,  which  I,  as  Captain  Hall's  legal  adviser, 
must  discuss  with  you." 

Captain  Shadrach  and  Zoeth  looked  at  each  other.  The 
former  tugged  at  his  beard. 

"Hum !"  he  mused.  "Somethin'  to  do  with  Marcellus's 
affairs,  is  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Want  to  know!  And  somethin'  to  do  with  me  and 
Zoeth?" 

"Yes,  with  both  of  you.  This,"  holding  up  one  of  the 
folded  papers,  "is  Captain  Hall's  will.  I  drew  it  for  him 
a  year  ago  and  he  has  appointed  me  his  executor." 

Zoeth  nodded.  "We  supposed  likely  he  would,"  he 
observed. 

"Couldn't  get  a  better  man,"  added  Shadrach,  with 
emphasis. 

"Thank  you.  Captain  Hall  leaves  all  he  possessed — 
practically  all ;  there  is  a  matter  of  two  hundred  dollars 
for  his  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Hobbs,  and  a  few  other  per 
sonal  gifts — but  he  leaves  practically  all  he  possessed  to 
his  stepdaughter,  Mary  Lathrop." 

Both  his  hearers  nodded  again.  "We  expected  that, 
naturally,"  said  the  Captain.  "It's  what  he'd  ought  to 
have  done,  of  course.  Well,  she'll  be  pretty  well  fixed, 
won't  she?" 

26 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Judge  Baxter  shook  his  head.  "Why,  no — she  won't," 
he  said,  soberly.  "That  is  a  part  of  the  surprise  which 
I  mentioned  at  first.  Captain  Hall  was,  practically,  a 
poor  man  when  he  died." 

That  the  prophesied  surprise  was  now  a  reality  was 
manifest.  Both  men  looked  aghast. 

"You — you  don't  mean  that,  Judge?"  gasped  Zoeth. 

"Poor?  Marcellus  poor?"  cried  Shadrach.  "Why — 
why,  what  kind  of  talk's  that?  He  didn't  have  no  more 

than  the  rest  of  us  when "  he  hesitated,  glanced  at 

Zoeth,  and  continued,  "when  the  firm  give  up  business 
back  in  '79;  but  he  went  to  sea  again  and  made  con 
siderable,  and  then  he  made  a  whole  lot  in  stocks.  I 
know  he  did.  You  know  it,  too,  Zoeth.  How  could  he 
be  poor?" 

"Because,  like  so  many  other  fortunate  speculators,  he 
continued  to  speculate  and  became  unfortunate.  He  lost 
the  bulk  of  his  winnings  in  the  stock  market  and — well, 
to  be  quite  frank,  Captain  Hall  has  been  a  broken  man, 
mentally  as  well  as  physically,  since  his  wife's  death  and 
his  own  serious  illness.  You,  yourselves,  must  have 
noticed  the  change  in  his  habits.  From  being  an  active 
man,  a  man  of  affairs,  he  became  almost  a  hermit.  He 
saw  but  few  people,  dropped  the  society  of  all  his  old 
friends,  and  lived  alone — alone  except  for  his  various 
housekeepers  and  Mary-'Gusta — the  little  girl,  I  mean. 
You  must  have  noticed  the  change  in  his  relations  with 
you." 

Mr.  Hamilton  sighed.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "we  noticed 
he  never  came  to  see  us  and — and " 

"And  wasn't  over'n  above  sociable  when  we  come  to 
see  him,"  finished  Captain  Shadrach.  "Yes,  we  noticed 
that.  But  I  say,  Judge,  he  must  have  had  some  money 
left.  What  became  of  it?" 

27 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Goodness  knows!  He  was  a  child,  so  far  as  money 
matters  went,  in  his  later  years.  Very  likely  he  frittered 
it  away  in  more  stock  ventures ;  I  know  he  bought  a  lot 
of  good  for  nothing  mining  shares.  At  any  rate  it  has 
gone,  all  except  a  few  thousands.  The  house  and  land 
where  he  lived  is  mortgaged  up  to  the  handle,  and  I 
imagine  there  are  debts,  a  good  many  of  them.  But 
whatever  there  is  is  left  to  Mary-'Gusta — everyone  calls 
her  that  and  I  seem  to  have  caught  the  habit.  It  is  left 
to  her — in  trust." 

Captain  Shadrach  thought  this  over.  "In  trust  with 
you,  I  presume  likely,"  he  observed.  "Well,  as  I  said 
afore,  he  couldn't  have  found  a  better  man." 

"He  thought  he  could,  two  better  men.  I  rather  think 
he  was  right.  You  are  the  two,  gentlemen." 

This  statement  did  not  have  the  effect  which  the  Judge 
expected.  He  expected  exclamations  and  protests.  In 
stead  his  visitors  looked  at  each  other  and  at  him  in 
a  puzzled  fashion. 

"Er — er — what  was  that?"  queried  Mr.  Hamilton.  "I 
didn't  exactly  seem  to  catch  that,  somehow  or  'nother." 

Judge  Baxter  turned  to  the  Captain. 

"You  understood  me,  didn't  you,  Captain  Gould?"  he 
asked. 

Shadrach  shook  his  head. 

"Why— why,  no,"  he  stammered;  "it  didn't  seem  to 
soak  in,  somehow.  Cal'late  my  head  must  have  stopped 
goin';  maybe  the  shock  I  had  a  spell  ago  broke  the 
mainspring.  All  I  seem  to  be  real  sartin  of  just  now 
is  that  the  Campbells  are  comin'.  What  was  it  you 
said?" 

"I  said  that  Captain  Marcellus  Hall  has  left  whatever 
property  he  owned,  after  his  creditors  are  satisfied,  to 
his  stepdaughter.  He  has  left  it  in  trust  until  she  becomes 

28 


MARY-'GUSTA 

of  age.  And  he  asks  you  two  to  accept  that  trust  and 
the  care  of  the  child.  Is  that  plain  ?" 

It  was  plain  and  they  understood.  But  with  under 
standing  came,  apparently,  a  species  of  paralysis  of  the 
vocal  organs.  Zoeth  turned  pale  and  leaned  back  in  his 
chair.  Shadrach's  mouth  opened  and  closed  several 
times,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"Of  course,"  went  on  Baxter,  "before  I  say  any  more 
I  think  you  should  be  told  this :  It  was  Captain  Hall's 
wish  that  you  jointly  accept  the  guardianship  of  Mary- 
'Gusta — of  the  girl — that  she  live  with  you  and  that  you 
use  whatever  money  comes  to  her  from  her  stepfather's 
estate  in  educating  and  clothing  her.  Also,  of  course,  that 
a  certain  sum  each  week  be  paid  you  from  that  estate  as 
her  board.  That  was  Marcellus's  wish ;  but  it  is  a  wish, 
nothing  more.  It  is  not  binding  upon  you  in  any  way. 
You  have  a  perfect  right  to  decline  and " 

Captain  Shadrach  interrupted. 

"Heave  to !"  he  ordered,  breathlessly.  "Come  up  into 
the  wind  a  minute,  for  mercy  sakes !  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  me  and  Zoeth  are  asked  to  take  that  young-one 
home  with  us,  and  take  care  of  her,  and  dress  her,  and — 
and  eat  her,  and  bring  her  up  and — and " 

He  paused,  incoherent  in  his  excitement.  The  Judge 
nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "that  is  what  he  asks  you  to  do. 
But,  as  I  say,  you  are  not  obliged  to  do  it;  there  is  no 
legal  obligation.  You  can  say  no,  if  you  think  it  best." 

"If  we  think — for  thunder  sakes,  Baxter,  what  was  the 
matter  with  Marcellus?  Was  he  out  of  his  head?  Was 
he  loony?" 

"No,  he  was  perfectly  sane." 

"Then — then,  what Zoeth,"  turning  wildly  to  Mr. 

Hamilton,  who  still  sat,  pale  and  speechless,  in  his  chair; 

29 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Zoeth,"  he  demanded,  "did  you  ever  hear  such  craziness 
in  your  life  ?    Did  you  ever  hear  such  stuff  ?" 

Zoeth  merely  shook  his  head.  His  silence  appeared  to 
add  to  his  friend's  excitement. 

"Did  you?"  he  roared. 

Zoeth  muttered  something  to  the  effect  that  he  didn't 
know  as  he  ever  did. 

"You  don't  know !  Yes,  you  do  know,  too.  Speak  up, 
why  don't  you  ?  Don't  sit  there  like  a  ship's  figgerhead, 
starin'  at  nothin'.  You  know  it's  craziness  as  well's  I 
do.  For  God  sakes,  say  somethin'!  Talk!" 

Mr.  Hamilton  talked — to  this  extent : 

"Hush,  Shadrach,"  he  faltered.     "Don't  be  profane." 

"Profane!  Pup-pup-profane!  You  set  there  and — 
and —  Oh,  jumpin',  creepin'  Judas!  I — I "  Lan 
guage — even  his  language — failed  to  express  his  feelings 
and  he  waved  his  fists  and  sputtered.  Baxter  seized  the 
opportunity. 

"Before  you  make  your  decision,  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"I  hope  you  will  consider  the  situation  carefully.  The 
girl  is  only  seven  years  old;  she  has  no  relations  any 
where,  so  far  as  we  know.  If  you  decline  the  trust  a 
guardian  will  have  to  be  appointed  by  the  courts,  I  sup 
pose.  Who  that  guardian  will  be,  or  what  will  become 
of  the  poor  child  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  And  Captain 
Marcellus  was  perfectly  sane;  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing." 

Shadrach  interrupted. 

"He  did !"  he  shouted.    "Well,  then,  I  must  say " 

"Just  a  minute,  please,  I  have  a  letter  here  which  he 
wrote  at  the  time  he  made  his  will.  It  is  addressed  to 
both  of  you.  Here  it  is.  Shall  I  read  it  to  you,  or  had 
you  rather  read  it  yourselves?" 

Zoeth  answered.    "I  guess  maybe  you'd  better  read  it, 
30 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Judge,"  he  said.  "I  don't  cal'late  Shadrach  nor  me  are 
capable  of  readin'  much  of  anything  just  this  minute. 
You  read  it.  Shadrach,  you  be  still  now  and  listen." 

The  Captain  opened  his  mouth  and  raised  a  hand. 
"Be  still,  Shadrach,"  repeated  Zoeth.  The  hand  fell. 
Captain  Gould  sighed. 

"All  right,  Zoeth,"  he  said.  "I'll  keep  my  hatch  closed 
long's  I  can.  Heave  ahead,  Judge." 

The  letter  was  a  long  one,  covering  several  sheets  of 
foolscap.  It  began : 

To  Shadrach  Gould  and  Zoeth  Hamilton,  my  old  partners 
and  friends. 

DEAR  SHAD  AND  ZOETH  : 

I  am  writing  this  to  you  because  I  have  known  you  pretty 
much  all  my  life  and  you  are  the  only  real  friends  I  have 
got  in  this  world. 

"I  was  his  friend,  or  I  tried  to  be,"  commented  Baxter, 
interrupting  his  reading;  "but  he  considered  you  two, 
and  always  spoke  of  you,  as  his  oldest  and  nearest 
friends.  He  has  often  told  me  that  he  knew  he  could 
depend  on  you.  Now  listen." 

The  letter  went  on  to  state  that  the  writer  realized  his 
health  was  no  longer  good,  that  he  was  likely  to  die  at 
any  time  and  was  quite  reconciled. 

I  should  be  glad  to  go  [Captain  Hall  had  written],  if  it 
was  not  for  one  thing.  Since  my  wife  was  took  from  me  I 
care  precious  little  for  life  and  the  sooner  it  ends  the  better. 
That  is  the  way  I  look  at  it.  But  I  have  a  stepdaughter, 
Mary  Augusta  Lathrop,  and  for  her  sake  I  must  stick  to  the 
ship  as  long  as  I  can.  I  have  not  been  the  right  kind  of 
father  to  her.  I  have  tried,  but  I  don't  seem  to  know  how 

31 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  I  guess  likely  I  was  too  old  to  learn.  When  I  go  she 
won't  have  a  relation  to  look  out  for  her.  That  has  troubled 
me  a  lot  and  I  have  thought  about  it  more  than  a  little,  I 
can  tell  you.  And  so  I  have  decided  to  leave  her  in  your 
care.  I  am  hoping  you  will  take  charge  of  her  and  bring 
her  up  to  be  a  good  girl  and  a  good  woman,  same  as  her 
mother  was  before  her.  I  know  you  two  will  be  just  the 
ones  for  the  job. 

"Jumpin'  fire!"  broke  in  Shadrach,  the  irrepressible. 
"Hush,  Shadrach,"  continued  Mr.  Hamilton.    "Go  on, 

Judge." 

Baxter  continued  his  reading.  The  letter  told  of  the 
will,  of  the  property,  whatever  it  might  be,  left  in  trust 
for  the  child,  and  of  the  writer's  desire  that  it  might 
be  used,  when  turned  into  money,  for  her  educa 
tion.  There  were  two  pages  of  rambling  references 
to  stocks  and  investments,  the  very  vagueness  of  these 
references  proving  the  weakening  shrewdness  and  lack  of 
business  acumen  of  Captain  Hall  in  his  later  years.  Then 
came  this: 

When  this  first  comes  to  you  I  know  you  will  both  feel 
you  are  not  fitted  to  take  charge  of  my  girl.  You  will  say 
that  neither  of  you  has  had  any  children  of  his  own  and 
you  have  not  got  experience  in  that  line.  But  I  have  thought 
it  over  and  I  know  I  am  right.  I  couldn't  find  better  pilots 
afloat  or  ashore.  Shadrach  has  been  to  sea  and  commanded 
vessels  and  is  used  to  giving  orders  and  having  them  carried 
out.  He  sailed  mate  with  me  for  a  good  many  voyages 
and  was  my  partner  ashore.  I  know  him  from  truck  to  keel 
son.  He  is  honest  and  able  and  can  handle  any  craft.  He 
will  keep  the  girl  on  the  course  she  ought  to  sail  in  her 
schooling  and  such  and  see  she  does  not  get  on  the  rocks 
or  take  to  cruising  in  bad  company.  Zoeth  has  had  the  land 

32 


MARY-'GUSTA 

training.  He  is  a  pious  man  and  as  good  outside  the  church 
as  he  is  in,  which  is  not  always  the  case  according  to  my 
experience.  He  has  the  name  all  up  and  down  the  Cape 
of  being  a  square,  honest  storekeeper.  He  will  look  out  for 
Mary's  religious  bringing  up  and  learn  her  how  to  keep 
straight  and  think  square.  You  are  both  of  you  different 
from  each  other  in  most  ways  but  you  are  each  of  you  hon 
est  and  straight  in  his  own  way.  I  don't  leave  Mary  in  the 
care  of  one  but  in  the  charge  of  both.  I  know  I  am  right. 

"He  said  that  very  thing  to  me  a  good  many  times," 
put  in  the  Judge.  "He  seemed  to  feel  that  the  very  fact 
of  your  being  men  of  different  training  and  habits  of 
thought  made  the  combination  ideal.  Between  you,  so 
he  seemed  to  think,  the  girl  could  not  help  but  grow  up 
as  she  should.  I  am  almost  through;  there  is  a  little 
more." 

I  want  you  fellows  to  do  this  for  my  sake.  I  know  you 
will,  after  you  have  thought  it  over.  You  and  I  have  been 
through  good  times  and  bad  together.  We  have  made  money 
and  we  have  seen  it  go  faster  than  it  came.  Shad  has  seen 
his  savings  taken  away  from  him,  partly  because  I  trusted 
where  he  did  not,  and  he  never  spoke  a  word  of  complaint 
nor  found  a  mite  of  fault.  Zoeth  has  borne  my  greatest 
trouble  with  me  and  though  his  share  was  far  away  bigger 
than  mine,  he  kept  me  from  breaking  under  it.  I  have  not 
seen  as  much  of  you  lately  as  I  used  to  see,  but  that  was  my 
fault.  Not  my  fault  exactly,  maybe,  but  my  misfortune.  I 
have  not  been  the  man  I  was  and  seeing  you  made  me  realize 
it.  That  is  why  I  have  not  been  to  South  Harniss  and  why 
I  acted  so  queer  when  you  came  here.  I  was  sort  of 
ashamed,  I  guess.  You  remember  when  the  old  Hall  and 
Company  firm  started  business  there  were  four  of  us  who 
agreed  to  stick  by  each  other  through  foul  weather  and  fair 
till  we  died.  One  of  that  four  broke  his  promise  and  pretty 

33 


MARY-'GUSTA 

nigh  wrecked  us  all,  as  he  did  wreck  the  firm.  Now  I  am 
asking  you  two  to  stick  by  me  and  mine.  I  am  trusting  and 
believing  that  you  are  going  to  do  it  as  I  write  this.  When 
you  read  it  I  shan't  be  on  hand.  But,  if  I  am  where  I  can 
see  and  hear  I  shall  still  be  believing  you  will  do  this  last 
favor  for  your  old  messmate. 

MARCELLUS. 

Judge  Baxter  folded  the  sheets  of  foolscap  and  laid 
them  on  the  table.  Then  he  took  off  his  spectacles  and 
wiped  them  with  his  handkerchief. 

"Well,  gentlemen  ?"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 

Captain  Gould  drew  a  long  breath. 

"I  don't  think  it's  well,"  he  observed.  "I  think  it's 
about  as  sick  as  it  can  be,  and  I  cal'late  Zoeth  feels  the 
same;  eh,  Zoeth?" 

Mr.  Hamilton  did  not  answer.  He  neither  spoke  nor 
moved. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  lawyer,  "it  is  not  necessary  that 
you  make  up  your  minds  this  instant.  You  will  probably 
wish  a  few  days  to  think  the  matter  over  in  and  then  you 
can  let  me  know  what  you  decide.  You  have  heard  the 
letter  and  I  have  explained  the  situation.  Are  there  any 
questions  you  would  like  to  ask?" 

Shadrach  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  far's  I'm  concerned,"  he  said.  "My  mind  is 
made  up  now.  I  did  think  there  wasn't  anything  I 
wouldn't  do  for  Marcellus.  And  I  would  have  done  any 
thing  in  reason.  But  this  ain't  reason — it's  what  I  called 
it  in  the  beginnin',  craziness.  Me  and  Zoeth  can't  go 
crazy  for  anybody." 

"Then  you  decline  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I'm  mighty  sorry  but  of  course  we  can't 
do  such  a  thing.  Me  and  Zoeth,  one  of  us  a  bach  all  his 
life,  and  t'other  one  a — a  widower  for  twenty  years,  for 

34 


MARY-'GUSTA 

us  to  take  a  child  to  bring  up!  My  soul  and  body! 
Havin'  hung  on  to  the  heft  of  our  senses  so  far,  course 
we  decline !  We  can't  do  nothin'  else." 

"And  you,  Mr.  Hamilton?" 

Zoeth  appeared  to  hesitate.     Then  he  asked: 

"What  sort  of  a  girl  is  she?" 

"Mary-'Gusta  ?  She's  a  bright  child,  and  a  well-be 
haved  one,  generally  speaking.  Rather  old  for  her  years, 
and  a  little — well,  peculiar.  That  isn't  strange,  consider 
ing  the  life  she  has  led  since  her  mother's  death.  But 
she  is  a  good  girl  and  a  pretty  little  thing.  I  like  her; 
so  does  my  wife." 

"That  was  her  at  the  cemetery,  wasn't  it?  She  was 
with  that  Hobbs  woman?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  so.  Shadrach  and  I  met  her  when  we  was 
over  here  two  years  ago.  I  thought  the  one  at  the  grave 
yard  was  her.  Poor  little  critter!  Where  is  she  now; 
at  the  house — at  Marcellus's  ?" 

"Yes;  that  is,  I  suppose  she  is." 

"Do  you — do  you  cal'late  we  could  see  her  if  we  went 
there  now  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  you  could." 

Zoeth  rose. 

"Come  on,  Shadrach,"  he  said,  "let's  go." 

The  Captain  stared  at  him. 

"Go  ?"  he  repeated.    "Where  ?    Home,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"No,  not  yet.  I  mean  over  to  Marcellus's  to  see  that 
little  girl." 

"Zoeth  Hamilton !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me What 

do  you  want  to  see  her  for?  Do  you  want  to  make  it 
harder  for  her  and  for  us  and  for  all  hands?  What 
good  is  seein'  her  goin'  to  do  ?  Ain't  it  twice  as  easy  to 
say  no  now  and  be  done  with  it?" 

35 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  suppose  likely  'twould  be,  but  it  wouldn't  be  right. 
Marcellus  asked  us  to  do  this  thing  for  him  and— 

"Jumpin'  Judas!  Asked  us!  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you're  thinkin'  of  doin'  what  he  asked?  Are  you  loony, 
too  ?  Are  you " 

"Shh,  Shadrach !  He  asked  us,  as  a  last  favor,  to  take 
charge  of  his  girl.  I  feel  as  you  do  that  we  can't  do  it, 
'tain't  sensible  nor  possible  for  us  to  do  it,  but " 

"There  ain't  any  buts." 

"But  the  very  least  we  can  do  is  go  and  see  her  and 
talk  to  her." 

"What  for?  So  we'll  feel  meaner  and  more  sneaky 
when  we  have  to  say  no  ?  /  shan't  go  to  see  her." 

"All  right.  Then  I  shall.  You  can  wait  here  for  me 
till  I  come  back." 

"Hold  on,  Zoeth!     Hold  on!     Don't— 

But  Mr.  Hamilton  was  at  the  door  and  did  not  turn 
back.  Judge  Baxter,  who  was  following  him,  spoke. 

"Sit  right  here,  Captain,"  he  said.  "Make  yourself 
as  comfortable  as  you  can.  We  shan't  be  long." 

For  an  instant  Shadrach  remained  where  he  was. 
Then  he,  too,  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  overtook  the  lawyer 
just  as  the  latter  reached  the  side  door. 

"Hello,  Captain,"  exclaimed  Baxter,  "changed  your 
mind?" 

"Changed  nothin'.  Zoeth's  makin'  a  fool  of  himself 
and  I  know  it,  but  he  ain't  goin'  to  be  a  fool  all  by  him 
self.  I've  seen  him  try  it  afore  and  'tain't  safe." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

The  Captain  grunted  scornfully. 

"I  mean  there's  safety  in  numbers,  whether  it's  the 
number  of  fools  or  anything  else,"  he  said.  "One  idiot's 
a  risky  proposition,  but  two  or  three  in  a  bunch  can 
watch  each  other.  Come  on,  Judge,  and  be  the  third." 

36 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  white  house  on  Phinney's  Hill  looked  desolate 
and  mournful  when  the  buggy  containing  Judge 
Baxter  and  his  two  companions  drove  into  the 
yard.    The  wagon  belonging  to  Mr.  Hallett,  the  under 
taker,  was  at  the  front  door,  and  Hallett  and  his  assistant 
were  loading  in  the  folding  chairs.     Mr.   Hallett  was 
whistling  a  popular  melody,  but,  somehow  or  other,  the 
music  only  emphasized  the  lonesomeness.    There  is  little 
cheer  in  an  undertaker's  whistle. 

Captain  Gould,  acting  under  the  Judge's  orders,  piloted 
his  horse  up  the  driveway  and  into  the  back  yard.  The 
animal  was  made  fast  to  the  back  fence  and  the  three  men 
alighted  from  the  buggy  and  walked  up  to  the  side  door 
of  the  house. 

"Say,  Judge,"  whispered  the  Captain,  as  they  halted  by 
the  step,  "you  don't  cal'late  I  can  find  out  who  loaded  up 
that  music-box  chair  on  me,  do  you?  If  I  could  meet 
that  feller  for  two  or  three  minutes  I  might  feel  more 
reconciled  at  bein'  fool  enough  to  come  over  here." 

Mrs.  Hobbs  answered  the  knock  at  the  door — she  in 
vited  them  in.  When  told  that  they  had  come  to  see 
Mary-'Gusta  she  sniffed. 

"She's  in  her  room,"  she  said,  rather  sharply.  "She 
hadn't  ought  to  be  let  out,  but  of  course  if  you  want  to 
see  her,  Judge  Baxter,  I  presume  likely  she'll  have  to 
be.  I'll  go  fetch  her." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mrs.  Hobbs,"  said  Baxter.  "What's 
the  matter  ?  Has  the  child  been  behaving  badly  ?" 

37 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mrs.  Hobbs'  lean  fingers  clinched.  "Behavin'  badly !" 
she  repeated.  "I  should  say  she  had!  I  never  was  so 
mortified  in  my  life.  And  at  her  own  father's  funeral, 
too!" 

"What  has  she  done?" 

"Done?  She "     Mrs.  Hobbs  hesitated,  glanced  at 

Captain  Shadrach,  and  left  her  sentence  unfinished. 
"Never  mind  what  she  done,"  she  went  on.  "I  can't  tell 
you  now ;  I  declare  I'd  be  ashamed  to.  I'll  go  get  her." 

She  marched  from  the  room.  Zoeth  rubbed  his  fore 
head. 

"She  seems  sort  of  put  out,  don't  she,"  he  observed, 
mildly. 

Baxter  nodded.  "Susan  Hobbs  has  the  reputation  of 
getting  'put  out'  pretty  often,"  he  said.  "She  has  a  temper 
and  it  isn't  a  long  one." 

"Has  she  been  takin'  care  of  Marcellus's  girl?"  asked 
Zoeth. 

"Yes.    As  much  care  as  the  child  has  had." 

Captain  Shad  snorted.  It  was  evident  that  the  house 
keeper's  manner  had  not  impressed  him  favorably. 

"Humph!"  he  said.  "I'd  hate  to  have  her  take  care 
of  me,  judgin'  by  the  way  she  looked  just  now.  Say," 
hopefully,  "do  you  suppose  she  was  the  one  fixed  that 
chair?" 

They  heard  Mrs.  Hobbs  on  the  floor  above,  shouting: 

"Mary-'Gusta !  Mary-'Gusta !  Where  are  you  ?  An 
swer  me  this  minute !" 

"Don't  seem  to  be  in  that  room  she  was  talkin'  about," 
grumbled  Shadrach.  "Tut !  Tut !  What  a  vojce  that  is ! 
Got  a  rasp  to  it  like  a  rusty  saw." 

Mrs.  Hobbs  was  heard  descending  the  stairs.  Her 
face,  when  she  reentered  the  sitting-room,  was  red  and 
she  looked  more  "put  out"  than  ever. 

38 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"She  ain't  there,"  she  answered,  angrily.    "She's  gone." 

"Gone  ?"  repeated  Zoeth  and  Shadrach  in  chorus. 

"Gone?"  repeated  the  Judge.  "Do  you  mean  she's 
run  away?" 

"No,  no!  She  ain't  run  away — not  for  good;  she 
knows  better  than  that.  She's  sneaked  off  and  hid,  I  sup 
pose.  But  I  know  where  she  is.  I'll  have  her  here  in 
a  minute." 

She  was  hurrying  out  again,  but  the  Captain  detained 
her. 

"Wait!"  he  commanded.  "What's  that  you  say?  You 
know  where  she  is?" 

"Yes,  or  I  can  guess.  Nine  chances  to  one  she's  out  in 
that  barn." 

"In  the  barn  ?    What's  she  doin'  there — playin'  horse  ?" 

"No,  no.  She's  hidin'  in  the  carriage  room.  Seems 
as  if  the  child  was  possessed  to  get  out  in  that  dusty  place 
and  perch  herself  in  the  old  carryall.  She  calls  it  her 
playhouse  and  you'd  think  'twas  Heaven  the  way  she 
loves  to  stay  there.  But  today  of  all  days!  And  with 
her  best  clothes  on !  And  after  I  expressly  told  her " 

"Yes,  yes;  all  right.  Humph!  Well,  Zoeth,  what  do 
you  say?  Shall  we  go  to  Heaven  and  hunt  for  her? 
Maybe  'twill  be  the  only  chance  some  of  us'll  get,  you 
can't  tell,"  with  a  wink  at  Baxter. 

"Hush,  Shadrach!  How  you  do  talk!"  protested  the 
shocked  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"Let's  go  out  to  the  barn  and  find  the  young-one  our 
selves,"  said  the  Captain.  "Seems  the  simplest  thing  to 
do,  don't  it?" 

Mrs.  Hobbs  interrupted. 

"You  don't  need  to  go  at  all,"  she  declared.  "I'll  get 
her  and  bring  her  here.  Perhaps  she  ain't  there,  any 
way." 

39 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Well,  if  she  ain't  there  we  can  come  back  again.  Come 
on,  boys." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  door.  The  housekeeper  would 
have  accompanied  them,  but  he  prevented  her  doing  so. 

"Don't  you  trouble  yourself,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "We'll 
find  her.  I'm  older'n  I  used  to  be,  but  I  ain't  so  blind 
but  what  I  can  locate  a  barn  without  a  spyglass." 

"It  won't  be  any  trouble,"  protested  the  lady. 

"I  know,  but  it  might  be.    We'll  go  alone." 

When  the  three  were  in  the  back  yard,  and  the  dis 
comfited  housekeeper  was  watching  them  from  the  door, 
he  added: 

"I  don't  know  why  that  woman  rubs  my  fur  the  wrong 
way,  but  she  does.  Isaiah  Chase  says  he  don't  like  mos 
quitoes  'cause  they  get  on  his  nerves.  I  never  thought 
I  wore  my  nerves  on  the  back  of  my  neck,  which  is 
where  Isaiah  gets  skeeter-bit  mostly,  but  anyhow,  wher 
ever  they  be,  that  Hobbs  woman  bothers  'em.  There's 
the  barn,  ain't  it  ?  Don't  look  very  heavenly,  but  it  may 
seem  that  way  after  a  spell  in  t'other  place.  Now  where's 
the  carriage  room?" 

The  door  of  the  carriage  room  was  open,  and  they 
entered.  A  buggy  and  the  muslin  draped  surrey  were 
there,  but  no  living  creature  was  in  sight.  They  listened, 
but  heard  nothing. 

"Mary !  Mary-'Gusta !"  called  Baxter.  "Are  you  here  ?" 

No  answer.  And  then,  from  beneath  the  cover  of  the 
surrey,  appeared  a  fat  tortoise-shell  cat,  who  jumped 
lightly  to  the  floor,  yawned,  stretched,  and  blinked  sus 
piciously  at  the  visitors. 

"Humph!"  grunted  Captain  Shadrach.  "There's  one 
stowaway,  anyhow.  Maybe  there's  another ;  I've  had  'em 
come  aboard  in  pairs." 

The  Judge  walked  over  to  the  surrey,  and  raised  the 
40 


MARY-'GUSTA 

cover.     From  behind  it  came  a  frightened  little  squeal. 

"Oh,  there  you  are!"  said  Baxter.  "Mary-'Gusta,  is 
that  you?" 

There  was  a  rustle,  a  sob,  and  then  a  timid  voice  said, 
chokingly,  "Yes,  sir." 

"Come  out,"  said  the  Judge,  kindly.  "Come  out ;  here 
are  some  friends  who  want  to  meet  you." 

Another  sob  and  then :  "I — I  don't  want  to." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  We  won't  hurt  you.  We  only  want 
to  see  you  and  talk  with  you,  that's  all.  Come,  that's  a 
good  girl." 

"I— I  ain't  a  good  girl." 

"Never  mind.  We  want  to  see  you,  anyway.  I  guess 
you're  not  very  bad." 

"Yes,  I— I  am.    Is— is  Mrs.  Hobbs  there  ?" 

"No.    Come  now,  please." 

A  moment's  wait,  then,  from  beneath  the  cover,  ap 
peared  a  small  foot  and  leg,  the  latter  covered  by  a  black 
stocking.  The  foot  wiggled  about,  feeling  for  the  step. 
It  found  it,  the  cover  was  thrown  aside  and  Mary-'Gusta 
appeared,  a  pathetic  little  figure,  with  rumpled  hair  and 
tear-stained  cheeks.  Rose  and  Rosette,  the  two  dolls, 
were  hugged  in  her  arms. 

Judge  Baxter  patted  her  on  the  head.  Zoeth  and  Shad- 
rach  looked  solemn  and  ill  at  ease.  Mary-'Gusta  looked 
at  the  floor  and  sniffed  dolefully. 

"Mary-'Gusta,"  said  the  Judge,  "these  two  gentle 
men  are  old  friends  of  your  father's  and,"  with  a  pardon 
able  stretching  of  the  truth,  "they  have  come  all  the 
way  from  South  Harniss  to  meet  you.  Now  you  must 
shake  hands  with  them.  They  like  little  girls." 

Mary-'Gusta  obediently  moved  forward,  shifted 
Rosette  to  the  arm  clasping  Rose,  and  extended  a  hand. 
Slowly  she  raised  her  eyes,  saw  Mr.  Hamilton's  mild, 


MARY-'GUSTA 

gentle  face  and  then,  beside  it,  the  face  of  Captain 
Shadrach  Gould.  With  a  cry  she  dropped  both  dolls, 
ran  back  to  the  surrey  and  fumbled  frantically  with  the 
dust  cover. 

Baxter,  surprised  and  puzzled,  ran  after  her  and  pre 
vented  her  climbing  into  the  carriage. 

"Why,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  demanded,  "what  is  the 
matter?" 

The  child  struggled  and  then,  bursting  into  a  storm  of 
sobs,  hid  her  face  in  the  dust  cover. 

"I— I  didn't  mean  to,"  she  sobbed,  wildly.  "I  didn't 
mean  to.  Honest  I  didn't.  I — I  didn't  know.  I  didn't 
mean  to.  Please  don't  let  him.  Please!" 

The  Judge  held  her  close  and  did  his  best  to  calm 
her. 

"There,  there,  child,"  he  said.  "No  one's  going  to 
hurt  you." 

"Yes — yes,  they  are.  Mrs.  Hobbs  said  she  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  knocked  my — my  head  right  off." 

"Knocked  your  head  off!    Who?" 

"Him." 

She  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  a  shaking  finger 
straight  at  Captain  Shadrach. 

All  three  of  her  hearers  were  surprised,  of  course,  but 
in  the  case  of  the  Captain  himself  amazement  was  coupled 
with  righteous  indignation. 

"Wha-what?"  he  stammered.  "Who  said  so?  What 
kind  of  talk's  that?  Said  /  was  goin'  to  knock  your  head 
off?  /was?" 

Baxter  laughed.  "No,  no,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said; 
"you're  mistaken.  Mrs.  Hobbs  couldn't  have  said  any 
such  thing.  You're  mistaken,  dear." 

"No,  I  ain't,"  with  another  sob;  "she  did  say  so. 
She  said  he  would  knock  my  head — ah — ah — off  and — 

42 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  put  me  in  jail,  too.     And  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it; 
honest,  truly  I  didn't." 

The  Judge  looked  at  his  companions  and  shook  his  head 
as  if  the  conundrum  was  beyond  his  guessing.  Captain 
Shad  groaned. 

"By  fire !"  he  ejaculated.  "All  hands  have  gone  loony, 
young-ones  and  all.  And,"  with  conviction,  "I'm  on  the 
road  myself." 

Zoeth  Hamilton  stepped  forward  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"Come  here,  dearie,"  he  said,  gently;  "come  here  and 
tell  me  all  about  it.  Neither  me  nor  the  Cap'n's  goin' 
to  hurt  you  a  mite.  We  like  little  girls,  both  of  us  do. 
Now  you  come  and  tell  me  about  it." 

Mary-'Gusta's  sobs  ceased.  She  looked  at  the  speaker 
doubtfully. 

"Come,  don't  be  scared,"  begged  Zoeth.  "We're  goin' 
to  be  good  friends  to  you.  We  knew  your  father  and 
he  thought  everything  of  us.  You  ain't  goin'  to  be  afraid 
of  folks  that  was  your  Pa's  chums.  You  come  here  and 
let's  talk  it  over." 

Slowly  Mary-'Gusta  crossed  the  room.  Zoeth  sat  down 
upon  an  empty  box  near  the  door  and  lifted  the  girl 
to  his  knee. 

"Now  you  ain't  afraid  of  me,  be  you?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

Mary-'Gusta  shook  her  head,  but  her  big  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  Captain  Shadrach's  face. 

"No-o,"  she  faltered.  "I — I  guess  I  ain't.  But  you 
wasn't  the  one  I  did  it  to.  It  was  him." 

Judging  by  the  Captain's  expression  his  conviction 
that  all  hands,  himself  included,  had  lost  their  reason 
was  momentarily  growing  firmer. 

"Me?"  he  gasped.     "You  done  somethin'  to  me  and 

I — well,  by  Judas,  this  is " 

43 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Hush,  Shadrach !  What  was  it  you  done,  Mary,  that 
made  you  afraid  of  Cap'n  Gould?  Tell  me.  I  won't 
hurt  you  and  I  won't  let  anybody  else." 

"You  won't  let — Zoeth  Hamilton,  I  swan,  I " 

"Be  still,  Shadrach,  for  mercy  sakes !  Now,  what  was 
it,  dearie?" 

Mary-'Gusta  hesitated.  Then  she  buried  her  face  in 
Mr.  Hamilton's  jacket  and  sobbed  a  confession. 

"I— I  made  it  go,"  she  cried.  "I— I  broke  the— the 
catch — and  it  was  wound  up  and — and  it  went  off.  But 
I  didn't  know.  I  didn't  mean " 

"There,  there,  course  you  didn't.  We  know  you  didn't. 
What  was  it  that  went  off  ?" 

"The — the  music  chair.  It  was  in  the  corner  and  Mr. 
Hallett  took  it  and — and  I  couldn't  say  anything  'cause 
Mrs.  Hobbs  said  I  mustn't  speak  a  word  at  the  funeral. 
And — and  he  set  in  it  and  it  played  and — Oh,  don't  let 
him  put  me  in. jail!  Please  don't." 

Another  burst  of  tears.  Mary-'Gusta  clung  tightly  to 
the  Hamilton  jacket.  Judge  Baxter  looked  as  if  a  light 
had  suddenly  broken  upon  the  darkness  of  his  mind. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "You  were  responsible  for  the  'Camp 
bells/  I  see." 

Shadrach  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Whew!"  he  whistled.  "So  she  was  the  one.  Well, 
I  swan!" 

Zoeth  stroked  the  child's  hair. 

"That's  all  right,  dearie,"  he  said.  "Now  don't  you 
worry  about  that.  We  didn't  know  who  did  it,  but  now 
we  do  and  it's  all  right.  We  know  you  didn't  mean  to." 

"Won't— won't  he  knock  my  head  off?" 

"No,  no,  course  he  won't.    Tell  her  so,  Shadrach." 

Captain  Shadrach  pulled  at  his  beard.  Then  he  burst 
into  a  laugh. 

44 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  won't  hurt  you  for  nothin',  sis,"  he  said,  heartily. 
"It's  all  right  and  don't  you  fret  about  it.  Accidents 
will  happen  even  in  the  best  regulated — er — funerals; 
though,"  with  a  broad  grin,  "I  hope  another  one  like 
that'll  never  happen  to  me.  Now  don't  you  cry  any 
more." 

Mary-'Gusta  raised  her  head  and  regarded  him  steadily. 

"Won't  I  be  put  in  jail?"  she  asked,  more  hopefully. 

"Indeed  you  won't.  I  never  put  anybody  in  jail  in  my 
life;  though,"  with  an  emphatic  nod,  "there's  some  folks 
ought  to  go  there  for  frightenin'  children  out  of  their 
senses.  Did  that  Mrs.  Hobbs  tell  you  I  was  goin'  to — 
what  was  it  ? — knock  your  head  off  and  all  the  rest  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she  did." 

"Well,  she's  a — she's  what  she  is.  What  else  did  she 
say  to  you?" 

"She — she  said  I  was  a  bad,  wicked  child  and  she 
hoped  I'd  be  sent  to  the — the  orphans'  home.  If  she  was 
to  have  the  care  of  me,  she  said,  she'd  make  me  walk 
a  chalk  or  know  why.  And  she  sent  me  to  my  room  and 
said  I  couldn't  have  any  supper." 

Zoeth  and  the  Captain  looked  at  each  other.  Baxter 
frowned. 

"On  the  very  day  of  her  father's  funeral,"  he  mut 
tered. 

"Can't  I  have  any  supper  ?"  begged  Mary-'Gusta.  "I'm 
awful  hungry;  I  didn't  want  much  dinner." 

Zoeth  nodded.  His  tone,  when  he  spoke,  was  not  so 
mild  as  was  usual  with  him. 

"You  shall  have  your  supper,"  he  said. 

"And — and  must  I  go  to  the  orphans'  home  ?" 

No  one  answered  at  once.  Zoeth  and  Captain  Shad 
again  looked  at  each  other  and  the  Judge  looked  at 
them  both. 

45 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Must  I  ?"  repeated  Mary-'Gusta.  "I— I  don't  want  to. 
I'd  rather  die,  I  guess,  and  go  to  Heaven,  same  as  Mother 
and  Father.  But  Mrs.  Hobbs  says  they  don't  have  any 
dolls  nor  cats  in  Heaven,  so  I  don't  know's  I'd  want  to 
go  there." 

Baxter  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Cap 
tain  Shadrach  reached  into  his  pocket,  produced  a  crum 
pled  handkerchief,  and  blew  his  nose  violently.  Zoeth 
stroked  the  child's  hair. 

"Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "how  would 
you  like  to  go  over  to  South  Harniss  and — and  see  me 
and  Cap'n  Gould  a  little  while?  Just  make  us  a  visit, 
you  know.  Think  you'd  like  that?" 

The  Captain  started.  "Good  land,  Zoeth!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Be  careful  what  you're  sayin'." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  anything  definite,  Shadrach.  I  know 
how  you  feel  about  it.  I  just  wanted  to  see  how  she  felt 
herself,  that's  all.  Think  you'd  like  that,  Mary-'Gusta  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  thought  it  over.  "I  guess  maybe  I  would," 
she  said,  "if  I  could  take  my  dolls  and  David.  I  wouldn't 
want  to  leave  David.  Mrs.  Hobbs  don't  like  cats." 

And  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Hobbs  herself  appeared  in 
the  doorway  of  the  carriage  room.  She  saw  the  child 
and  her  eyes  snapped. 

"So  she  was  here,"  she  said.  "I  thought  as  much. 
Mary-'Gusta,  what  did  you  run  away  from  that  room 
for?  Didn't  I  forbid  you  leavin'  it?  She's  been  a  bad 
girl,  Judge  Baxter,"  she  added,  "and  I  can't  mike  her 
behave.  I  try  my  best,  but  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what 
to  do." 

Captain  Shadrach  thrust  both  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"I  tell  you  what  to  do,"  he  said,  sharply.  "You  go 
into  the  house  and  put  some  of  her  things  into  a  valise  or 

46 


MARY-'GUSTA 

satchel  or  somethin'.    And  hurry  up  as  fast  as  you  can." 

Mrs.  Hobbs  was  astonished. 

"Put  'em  in  a  satchel?"  she  repeated.  "What  for? 
Where's  she  goin'  ?" 

"She's  goin'  home  along  with  me  and  Zoeth.  And  she's 
got  to  start  inside  of  half  an  hour.  You  hurry." 

"But— but " 

"There  ain't  any  'buts' ;  haven't  got  time  for  'em." 

Mr.  Hamilton  regarded  his  friend  with  an  odd  ex 
pression. 

"Shadrach,"  he  asked,  "do  you  realize  what  you're 
sayin'  ?" 

"Who's  sayin'?  You  said  it,  I  didn't.  Besides  takin' 
her  home  with  us  today  don't  mean  nothin',  does  it?  A 
visit  won't  hurt  us.  Visits  don't  bind  anybody  to  any 
thing.  Jumpin'  Judas !  I  guess  we've  got  room  enough 
in  the  house  to  have  one  young-one  come  visitin'  for — 
for  a  couple  of  days,  if  we  want  to.  What  are  you 
makin'  such  a  fuss  about?  Here  you,"  turning  to  the 
housekeeper,  "ain't  you  gone  yet?  You've  got  just  thir 
teen  minutes  to  get  that  satchel  ready." 

Mrs.  Hobbs  departed,  outraged  dignity  in  her  walk 
and  manner. 

"Am — am  I  goin'  ?"  faltered  Mary-'Gusta. 

Zoeth  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you're  goin'.  Unless,  of  course,  you'd 
rather  stay  here." 

"No,  I'd  rather  go,  if — if  I  can  take  David  and  the 
dolls.  Can  I?" 

"Can  she,  Shadrach?" 

Captain  Shad,  who  was  pacing  the  floor,  turned 
savagely. 

"What  do  you  ask  me  that  for  ?"  he  demanded.  "This 
is  your  doin's,  'tain't  mine.  You  said  it  first,  didn't 

47 


MARY-'GUSTA 

you  ?  Yes,  yes,  let  her  take  the  dolls  and  cats — and  cows 
and  pigs,  too,  if  she  wants  to.  Jumpin'  fire!  What  do 
I  care?  If  a  feller's  bound  to  be  a  fool,  a  little  live  stock 
more  or  less  don't  make  him  any  bigger  one.  .  .  .  Land 
sakes !  I  believe  she's  goin'  to  cry  again.  Don't  do  that ! 
What's  the  matter  now  ?" 

The  tears  were  starting  once  more  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"I — I  don't  think  you  want  me,"  she  stammered.  "If 
you  did  you — you  wouldn't  talk  so." 

The  Captain  was  greatly  taken  aback.  He  hesitated, 
tugged  at  his  beard,  and  then,  walking  over  to  the  child, 
took  her  by  the  hand. 

"Don't  you  mind  the  way  I  talk,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said. 
"I'm  liable  to  talk  'most  any  way,  but  I  don't  mean  nothin' 
by  it.  I  like  little  girls,  same  as  Zoeth  said.  And  I 
ain't  mad  about  the  jig-tune  chair,  neither.  Say,"  with 
a  sudden  inspiration,  "here  we  are  settin'  here  and  one 
of  our  passengers  has  left  the  dock.  We  got  to  find  that 
cat,  ain't  we?  What  did  you  say  his  name  was — 
Solomon  ?" 

"No,  sir;  David." 

"David,  sure  enough.  If  I'd  been  up  in  Scripture  the 
way  Zoeth — Mr.  Hamilton,  here — is,  I  wouldn't  have 
made  that  mistake,  would  I?  Come  on,  let's  you  and 
me  go  find  David  and  break  the  news  to  him.  Say,  he'll 
be  some  surprised  to  find  he's  booked  for  a  foreign 
v'yage,  won't  he  ?  Come  on,  we'll  go  find  him." 

Mary-'Gusta  slowly  rose  from  Mr.  Hamilton's  knee. 
She  regarded  the  Captain  steadily  for  a  moment;  then, 
hand  in  hand,  they  left  the  barn  together. 

Judge  Baxter  whistled.  "Well!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
must  say  I  didn't  expect  this." 

Zoeth  smiled.  "There  ain't  many  better  men  than 
Shadrach  Gould,"  he  observed,  quietly. 

48 


CHAPTER   IV 

MARY-'GUSTA,  even  though  she  lives  to  be  a 
very  old  woman,  will  never  forget  that  ride  to 
South  Harniss.  It  was  the  longest  ride  she  had 
ever  taken,  and  that  of  itself  would  have  made  it  unfor- 
getable.  Then,  too,  she  was  going  visiting,  and  she  had 
never  been  visiting  before.  Also,  she  was  leaving  Mrs. 
Hobbs  and,  for  a  time  at  least,  that  lady  could  not  remind 
her  of  her  queerness  and  badness.  More  than  all,  she  was 
going  on  a  journey,  a  real  journey,  like  a  grown-up  or  a 
person  in  a  story,  and  her  family — David  and  the  dolls — 
were  journeying  with  her.  What  the  journey  might  mean 
to  her,  or  to  what  sort  of  place  she  was  going — these 
questions  did  not  trouble  her  in  the  least.  Childlike,  she 
was  quite  satisfied  with  the  wonderful  present,  and  to  the 
future,  even  the  dreaded  orphans'  home,  she  gave  not  a 
thought. 

Perched  on  the  buggy  seat,  squeezed  in  between  Cap 
tain  Shad  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  she  gazed  wide-eyed  at 
the  houses  and  fields  and  woods  along  the  roadside.  She 
did  not  speak,  unless  spoken  to,  and  the  two  men  spoke 
but  seldom,  each  apparently  thinking  hard.  Occasion 
ally  the  Captain  would  sigh,  or  whistle,  or  groan,  as  if 
his  thoughts  were  disturbing  and  most  unusual.  Once 
he  asked  her  if  she  was  comfortable. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said. 

"Havin'  a  good  time  ?    Like  to  go  to  ride,  do  you  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  assumed  her  most  grown-up  air. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said.  "I  just  love  to  travel.  It's  been 
the  dream  of  my  life." 

49 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Gosh!  I  want  to  know!"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
Shadrach ;  then  he  shook  his  head,  chuckled,  and  ordered 
the  horse  to  hurry  up. 

The  dolls  were  arranged  in  a  row  against  the  back  of 
the  dashboard.  In  front  of  them,  and  between  the  Cap 
tain's  feet  and  Zoeth's,  the  battered  satchel  containing  the 
child's  everyday  dress  and  visiting  essentials  was 
squeezed.  Mary-'Gusta's  feet  stuck  straight  out  and 
rested  on  the  top  of  the  satchel.  David,  in  a  basket  with 
the  lid  tied  fast,  was  planted  between  the  last  men 
tioned  feet.  David  did  not  appear  to  share  his — or  her — 
owner's  love  of  travel.  The  cat  wailed  lugubriously  at 
intervals. 

Zoeth  made  the  next  attempt  at  conversation. 

"Never  been  to  South  Harniss,  have  you,  Mary- 
'Gusta?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  sir,"  gravely.  "But,"  remembering  the  house 
keeper's  final  charge  not  to  forget  her  manners,  if  she 
had  any,  "I'm  sure  I'll  like  it  very  much." 

"Oh,  you  are,  eh?  Well,  that's  nice.  What  makes 
you  so  sure  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  reflected.  She  remembered  what  Mrs. 
Bailey  had  said  after  a  week's  visit  in  Bayport,  which  is 
fourteen  miles  from  Ostable.  "I  think  everybody  enjoys 
a  change  of  air,"  she  observed. 

"My  soul  and  body !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hamilton. 

Captain  Shad  looked  down  at  his  small  passenger. 

"How  old  are  you,  sis  ?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  seven.  But  I  ain't  a  sis ;  I  haven't  got  any  broth 
ers  or  sisters." 

"Oh !  Well,  that's  a  fact,  too,  now  I  come  to  think  of 
it.  How  old  did  you  say;  seventy,  was  it?" 

"No,  sir.    Seven.    Did  you  think  I  said  seventy  ?" 

"Eh?    No,  I  guess  not." 

50 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  couldn't  be  seventy.  If  I  was  I'd  be  lots  bigger,  you 
know." 

"That's  so ;  I  presume  likely  you  would." 

More  reflection.  Then:  "If  I  was  seventy  I  guess  you 
wouldn't  have  asked  me." 

"Sho!    Wouldn't  I?    Why  not?" 

"  'Cause  grown-up  folks  don't  like  to  be  asked  how  old 
they  are.  I  asked  Mrs.  Hobbs  how  old  she  was  once 
and  she  didn't  like  it." 

"Didn't  she?" 

"No,  sir.    She  told  me  to  mind  my  own  business." 

The  Captain  laughed  aloud.  Then,  turning  to  Mr. 
Hamilton,  he  said :  "Say,  Zoeth,  Isaiah'll  be  a  little  mite 
surprised  when  he  sees  this  craft  make  port,  eh?" 

Zoeth  smiled.    "I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  replied. 

"Um-hm.  I'd  like  to  have  a  tintype  of  Isaiah's  face. 
Well,  sis — er,  Mary-'Gusta,  I  mean — there's  South  Har- 
niss  dead  ahead.  How  do  you  like  the  looks  of  it?" 

They  had  emerged  from  a  long  stretch  of  woods  and 
were  at  the  summit  of  a  little  hill.  From  the  crest  of  this 
hill  the  road  wound  down  past  an  old  cemetery  with  gray, 
moss-covered  slate  tombstones,  over  a  bridge  between  a 
creek  and  a  good-sized  pond,  on  through  a  clump  of 
pines,  where  it  joined  the  main  highway  along  the  south 
shore  of  the  Cape.  This  highway,  in  turn,  wound  and 
twisted — there  are  few  straight  roads  on  Cape  Cod — 
between  other  and  lower  hills  until  it  became  a  village 
street,  the  main  street  of  South  Harniss.  The  sun  was 
low  in  the  west  and  its  light  bathed  the  clustered  roofs 
in  a  warm  glow,  touched  windows  and  vanes  with  fire, 
and  twinkled  and  glittered  on  the  waters  of  Nantucket 
Sound,  which  filled  the  whole  southern  horizon.  There 
was  little  breeze  and  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys  rose 
almost  straight.  So,  too,  did  the  smoke  from  the  distant 


MARY-'GUSTA 

tugs  and  steamers.  There  were  two  or  three  schooners 
far  out,  and  nearer  shore,  a  sailboat.  A  pretty  picture, 
one  which  artists  have  painted  and  summer  visitors  en 
thused  over  many  times. 

To  Mary-'Gusta  it  was  new  and  wonderful.  The  child 
was  in  a  mood  to  like  almost  anything  just  then.  Mrs. 
Hobbs  was  miles  away  and  the  memory  of  the  music 
chair  and  her  own  disgrace  and  shame  were  but  memo 
ries.  She  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  and  looked. 

"Like  it,  do  you?"  asked  Zoeth,  echoing  his  friend's 
question. 

Mary-'Gusta  nodded.  "Yes,  sir,"  she  said.  "It— it's 
lovely." 

Captain  Shadrach  nodded.  "Best  town  on  earth,  if 
I  do  say  it,"  he  said,  emphatically.  "So  you  think  it's 
lovely,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,  sir."  Then,  pointing,  she  asked :  "Is  that  your 
house?" 

The  Captain  grinned.  "Well,  no,  not  exactly,"  he  said. 
"That's  the  town  hall.  Nobody  lives  there  but  the  select 
men  and  they  ain't  permanent  boarders — that  is,  I  have 
hopes  some  of  'em  '11  move  after  town-meetin'  day.  Our 
house  is  over  yonder,  down  nigh  the  shore." 

The  old  horse  pricked  up  his  ears  at  sight  of  home 
and  the  buggy  moved  faster.  It  rolled  through  the  main 
street,  where  the  Captain  and  Mr.  Hamilton  were  kept 
busy  answering  hails  and  returning  bows  from  citizens, 
male  and  female.  Through  the  more  thickly  settled  por 
tion  of  the  village  it  moved,  until  at  a  point  where  there 
were  fewer  shops  and  the  houses  were  older  and  less 
up-to-date,  it  reached  the  corner  of  a  narrow  cross  road. 
There  it  stopped  before  a  frame  building  bearing  the  sign, 
''Hamilton  and  Company,  Dry  Goods,  Groceries,  Boots 
and  Shoes  and  Notions."  There  was  a  narrow  platform 

52 


'Squeezed  in  between  Captain  Shad  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  she 
gazed  wide-eyed  at  the  houses  and  fields" 


MARY-'GUSTA 

at  the  front  of  the  building  and  upon  this  platform  were 
several  men,  mostly  of  middle  age  or  older.  Mary-'Gusta 
noticed  that  most  of  these  men  were  smoking.  If  she 
had  been  older  she  might  have  noticed  that  each  man 
either  sat  upon  the  platform  steps  or  leaned  against  the 
posts  supporting  its  roof.  Not  one  was  depending  solely 
upon  his  own  muscles  for  support ;  he  sat  upon  or  leaned 
against  something  wooden  and  substantial. 

As  the  buggy  drew  alongside  the  platform  the  men 
evinced  considerable  interest.  Not  enough  to  make  them 
rise  or  relinquish  support,  but  interest,  nevertheless. 

"Hello,  Shad !"  hailed  one.    "Home  again,  be  you?" 

"Pretty  big  funeral,  was  it?"  drawled  another. 

"Who's  that  you  got  aboard  ?"  queried  a  third. 

Captain  Shadrach  did  not  answer.  Mr.  Hamilton  leaned 
forward.  "Where's  Annabel?"  he  asked. 

"She's  inside,"  replied  the  first  questioner.  "Want  to 
see  her  ?  Hi,  Jabe,"  turning  his  head  and  addressing  one 
of  the  group  nearest  the  door,  "tell  Annabel,  Zoeth  and 
Shad's  come." 

"Jabe,"  who  was  propped  against  a  post,  languidly 
pushed  himself  away  from  it,  opened  the  door  behind 
him  and  shouted :  "Annabel,  come  out  here !"  Then  he 
slouched  back  and  leaned  against  the  post  again. 

The  door  opened  and  a  stout,  red- faced  young  woman 
appeared.  She  looked  much  more  like  an  Eliza  than  an 
Annabel.  She  had  a  newspaper  in  her  hand. 

"Hey?"  she  drawled.  "Who  was  that  hollerin' ?  Was 
it  you,  Jabez  Hedges  ?" 

Jabez  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  answer.  Instead  he 
took  a  hand  from  his  trousers  pocket  and  waved  it  to 
ward  the  buggy.  Annabel  looked;  then  she  came  down 
the  steps. 

"Hello !"  she  said.    "I  see  you  got  back  all  right." 

53 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Zoeth  nodded.  "How'd  you  get  along  in  the  store  ?" 
he  asked,  anxiously.  "How's  business?" 

"Wasn't  none  to  speak  of,"  replied  Annabel  carelessly. 
"Sold  a  couple  of  spools  of  cotton  and — and  some  salt 
pork  and  sugar.  Ezra  Rowland  bought  the  pork.  He 
wasn't  satisfied;  said  there  wasn't  enough  lean  in  it  to 
suit  him,  but  I  let  him  have  it  a  cent  cheaper,  so  he 
took  it." 

Mr.  Hamilton  seemed  a  trifle  disappointed.  "Was  that 
all?"  he  asked,  with  a  sigh. 

"Yup.  No,  'twa'n't  neither,  come  to  think  of  it.  Ras- 
tus  Young's  wife  come  in  with  her  two  young-ones  and 
bought  some  shoes  and  hats  for  'em." 

"Did  she  pay  cash?"  demanded  Captain  Shadrach 
sharply. 

"No;  she  said  charge  'em  up,  so  I  done  it.  Say,  ain't 
you  comin'  in  pretty  soon?  It's  'most  my  supper 
time." 

Zoeth  opened  his  mouth  to  answer,  but  the  Captain  got 
ahead  of  him. 

"It's  our  supper  time,  too,"  he  said,  crisply.  "When 
we've  had  it  you  can  have  yours.  Get  dap,  January." 

The  horse,  whose  name  was  Major  but  who  was  accus 
tomed  to  being  addressed  by  almost  any  name,  jogged  on. 
Mr.  Hamilton  sighed  once  more. 

"I'm  'f  raid  one  of  us  had  ought  to  stayed  in  the  store, 
Shadrach,"  he  said.  "Annabel  means  well,  she's  real 
obligin';  but  she  ain't  a  good  hand  at  business." 

Shadrach  snorted.  "Obligin'  nothin' !"  he  retorted. 
"We're  the  ones  that  was  obligin'  when  we  agreed  to  pay 
her  seventy-five  cents  for  settin'  astern  of  the  counter 
and  readin'  the  Advocate.  I  told  you  when  you  hired  her 
that  she  wasn't  good  for  nothin'  but  ballast." 

"I  know,  Shadrach.  I'd  ought  to  have  stayed  to  home 

54 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  kept  store  myself.  But  I  did  feel  as  if  I  must  go  to 
Marcellus's  funeral." 

"Sellin'  them  Youngs  a  whole  passel  of  stuff  and  lettin' 
'em  charge  it  up!"  went  on  Shadrach.  "They  owe  us 
enough  now  to  keep  a  decent  family  all  winter.  Reg'lar 
town  dead-beats,  that's  what  they  are.  You  couldn't  get 
a  cent  out  of  Rastus  Young  if  you  were  to  run  a  dredge 
through  him." 

Mr.  Hamilton  groaned  remorsefully.  "If  I'd  only 
stayed  at  home!"  he  said. 

"If  you'd  stayed  to  home  you'd  have  charged  up  the 
stuff  just  the  same  as  she  did.  You're  the  softest  thing, 
outside  of  a  sponge,  in  this  town.  Anybody  can  impose 
on  you,  and  you  know  it,  Zoeth." 

Zoeth's  habitual  mildness  gave  way  to  resentment,  mild 
resentment. 

"Why,  Shadrach,"  he  retorted,  "how  you  talk!  You 
was  the  one  that  charged  up  the  last  things  Rastus's  folks 
bought.  You  know  you  was." 

The  Captain  looked  as  if  he  had  been  caught  napping. 

"Well,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  he  sputtered. 
"  'Twasn't  nothin'  but  some  corn  meal  and  a  few  yards 
of  calico.  How  could  I  help  chargin'  it  up,  with  that 
woman  cryin'  and  goin'  on  about  their  havin'  nothin'  to 
eat  nor  wear  in  the  house?  I  couldn't  let  'em  starve, 
could  I  ?  Nor  freeze  neither  ?" 

"  'Twas  only  last  week  she  did  it,"  protested  his  partner. 
"Folks  don't  freeze  in  April,  seems  to  me." 

"Aw,  be  still !  Don't  talk  no  more  about  it.  By  fire !" 
with  a  sudden  change  of  subject  and  a  burst  of  enthusi 
asm,  "look  at  that  horse,  will  you !  Turned  right  in 
at  the  gate  without  my  pullin'  the  helm  once  or  sayin' 
a  word — knows  as  much  as  a  Christian,  that  horse  does." 

The  buggy  had  rocked  and  plowed  its  way  over  the 

55 


MARY-'GUSTA 

hummocks  and  through  the  sand  of  the  narrow  lane  and 
was  at  the  top  of  a  grass-covered  knoll,  a  little  hill.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill  was  the  beach,  strewn  with  seaweed, 
and  beyond,  the  Sound,  its  waters  now  a  rosy  purple 
in  the  sunset  light.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill  toward  the 
beach  stood  a  low,  rambling,  white  house,  a  barn,  and 
several  sheds  and  outbuildings.  There  were  lilac  bushes 
by  the  front  door  of  the  house,  a  clam-shell  walk  from 
the  lane  to  that  door,  and,  surrounding  the  whole,  a 
whitewashed  picket  fence.  A  sandy  rutted  driveway  led 
from  the  rear  of  the  house  and  the  entrance  of  the  barn 
down  to  a  big  gate,  now  wide  open.  It  was  through 
this  gateway  and  along  this  drive  that  the  sagacious 
Major  was  pulling  the  buggy. 

Mary-'Gusta  stared  at  the  house.  As  she  stared  the 
back  door  was  thrown  open  and  a  tall,  thin  man  came 
out.  He  was  in  his  shirtsleeves,  his  arms  were  bare  to 
the  elbow,  and  to  Mary-'Gusta's  astonishment  he  wore  an 
apron,  a  gingham  apron  similar  to  those  worn  by  Mrs. 
Hobbs  when  at  work  in  the  kitchen. 

"Ahoy,  there,  Isaiah!"  hailed  the  Captain.  "Here  we 
are." 

The  man  with  the  apron  took  a  big  nickel  watch  from 
the  upper  pocket  of  his  vest,  looked  at  it,  and  shook  his 
head.  Upon  his  face,  which  was  long  and  thin  like  the 
rest  of  him,  there  was  a  grieved  expression. 

"A  little  mite  late,  ain't  we,  Isaiah  ?"  said  Zoeth,  hastily. 
"Hope  we  ain't  kept  supper  waitin'  too  long?" 

The  tall  man  returned  the  watch  to  the  pocket. 

"Only  twenty-three  minutes,  that's  all,"  he  drawled, 
with  the  resignation  of  a  martyr.  "Twenty-three  minutes 
ain't  much  in  a  lifetime,  maybe — but  it  don't  help  fried 
potatoes  none.  Them  potatoes  was  ready  at  half -past 
five." 

56 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Well,  'tain't  six  yet,"  protested  Captain  Shad. 

"Maybe  'tain't,  but  it's  twenty-three  minutes  later'n 
half -past  five.  Last  thing  you  said  to  me  was,  'Have 
supper  ready  at  half-past  five!'  I  had  it  ready.  Them 
potatoes  went  on  the  fire  at " 

"There!  there!"  interrupted  the  Captain.  "Never 
mind  the  potatoes.  We'll  'tend  to  them  in  a  minute.  Give 
us  a  hand  with  this  dunnage.  There's  a  satchel  here  and 
some  more  stuff.  Sooner  this  craft's  unloaded  the  sooner 
we  can  eat.  All  ashore  that's  goin'  ashore." 

Zoeth  climbed  out  of  the  buggy.  He  lifted  their  pas 
senger  to  the  ground. 

"Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  "here's  where  Cap'n  Gould 
and  I  live.  This  is  Mr.  Isaiah  Chase.  Isaiah,  this  is 
Mary  Lathrop,  Cap'n  Marcellus's  little  girl.  She's  come 
to— t " 

"To  make  us  a  little  visit,"  put  in  the  Captain,  promptly. 
"You  want  to  get  acquainted  with  Isaiah,  Mary-'Gusta; 
he's  cook  and  steward  for  me  and  Mr.  Zoeth.  That's 
right ;  shake  hands  and  be  sociable." 

Mary-'Gusta  extended  her  hand  and  Mr.  Chase,  after 
wiping  his  own  hand  on  the  apron,  pumped  hers  up  and 
down. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,"  he  said,  solemnly. 

"Now  for  the  dunnage,"  said  Captain  Shad.  "There's 
the  satchel  and — and  the  other  things.  Look  out  for  that 
basket !  Look  out!" 

Mr.  Chase  had  seized  the  basket  and  swung  it  out  of 
the  buggy.  David,  frightened  at  the  sudden  aerial  ascen 
sion,  uttered  a  howl.  Isaiah  dropped  the  basket  as  if  it 
was  red  hot. 

"Wrhat  in  tunket!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Nothin'  but  a  cat,"  explained  the  Captain.  "  'Twon't 
hurt  you." 

57 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"A  cat!    What— whose  cat?" 

"Mine,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  running  to  the  rescue. 
"He's  a  real  good  cat.  He  ain't  cross ;  he's  scared,  that's 
all.  Honest,  he  ain't  cross.  Are  you,  David  ?" 

David  howled  and  clawed  at  the  cover  of  the  basket. 
Mr.  Chase  backed  away. 

"A  cat!"  he  repeated.    "You  fetched  a  cat— here?" 

"Sartin  we  fetched  it."  Captain  Shadrach  was  evi 
dently  losing  patience.  "Did  you  think  we'd  fetch  an 
elephant?  Now  get  out  them — them  doll  babies  and 
things." 

Isaiah  stared  at  the  dolls.  Mary-'Gusta  stopped  pat 
ting  the  basket  and  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  buggy. 
"I'll  take  the  dollies,"  she  said.  "They're  mine,  too." 

A  moment  later  they  entered  the  house.  Mary-'Gusta 
bore  three  of  the  dolls.  Mr.  Hamilton  carried  the  other 
two,  and  Isaiah,  with  the  valise  in  one  hand  and  the  bas 
ket  containing  the  shrieking  David  at  arm's  length  in 
the  other,  led  the  way.  Captain  Shad,  after  informing 
them  that  he  would  be  aboard  in  a  jiffy,  drove  on  to 
the  barn. 

The  room  they  first  entered  was  the  kitchen.  It  was 
small,  rather  untidy,  and  smelt  strongly  of  fish  and  the 
fried  potatoes. 

"Come  right  along  with  me,  Mary-'Gusta,"  said  Zoeth. 
"Fetch  the  satchel,  Isaiah." 

"Hold  on,"  shouted  the  perturbed  "cook  and  steward." 
"What — what  in  the  nation  will  I  do  with  this  critter?" 

The  "critter"  was  David,  who  was  apparently  turning 
somersaults  in  the  basket. 

Zoeth  hesitated.    Mary-'Gusta  settled  the  question. 

"Put  him  right  down,  please,"  she  said.  "He'll  be 
better  soon  as  he's  put  down.  He's  never  traveled  before 
and  it's  kind  of  strange  to  him.  He'll  be  all  right  and 

58 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I'll  come  back  and  let  him  out  pretty  soon.  Mayn't  I, 
Mr.— Mr.  Chase?" 

"Huh?  Yes,  yes,  you  can  if  you  want  to,  I  cal'late. 
/  don't  want  to,  that's  sure." 

He  deposited  the  basket  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  Mary- 
'Gusta  looked  at  it  rather  dubiously  and  for  an  instant 
seemed  about  to  speak,  but  she  did  not,  and  followed 
Mr.  Hamilton  from  the  kitchen,  through  the  adjoining 
room,  evidently  the  dining-room,  and  up  a  narrow  flight 
of  stairs. 

"I  cal'late  we'll  put  her  in  the  spare  room,  won't  we, 
Isaiah?"  queried  Zoeth,  with  some  hesitation. 

Isaiah  grunted.  "Guess  so,"  he  said,  ungraciously. 
"Ain't  no  other  place  that  I  know  of.  Bed  ain't  made, 
though." 

The  spare  room  was  of  good  size,  and  smelled  shut  up 
and  musty,  as  spare  rooms  in  the  country  usually  do.  It 
was  furnished  with  a  bureau,  washstand,  and  two  chairs, 
each  painted  in  a  robin's  egg  blue  with  sprays  of  yellow 
roses.  There  were  several  pictures  on  the  walls,  their 
subjects  religious  and  mournful.  The  bed  was,  as  Mr. 
Chase  had  said,  not  made ;  in  fact  it  looked  as  if  it  had 
not  been  made  for  some  time. 

"I've  been  cal'latin'  to  make  up  that  bed  for  more'n 
a  month,"  explained  Isaiah.  "Last  time  'twas  unmade 
was  when  Zoeth  had  that  minister  from  Trumet  here  of 
a  Saturday  and  Sunday.  Every  day  I've  cal'lated  to 
make  up  that  bed,  but  I  don't  seem  to  get  no  time.  I'm 
so  everlastin'  busy  I  don't  get  time  for  nothin',  some 
how." 

"I  can  make  the  bed,"  declared  Mary-'Gusta,  eagerly. 
"I  can  make  beds  real  well.  Mrs.  Hobbs  told  me  so — 
once." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  Before  either 

59 


MARY-'GUSTA 

could  speak  a  tremendous  racket  broke  out  on  the  floor 
below,  a  sound  of  something— or  somebody — tumbling 
about,  a  roar  in  a  human  voice  and  a  feline  screech. 
Mary-'Gusta  rushed  for  the  stairs. 

"I  knew  he  would,"  she  said,  frantically.  "I  was  afraid 
somebody  would.  It  was  right  in  front  of  the  door. 
Oh!  David,  dear!  I'm  a-comin'!  I'm  a-comin'!" 

From  the  kitchen  came  Captain  Shadrach's  voice.  It 
sounded  excited  and  angry. 

"Who  in  blazes  left  that  dum  critter  right  under  my 
feet?"  he  hollered.  "I — I  swan,  I  believe  I've  broke 
my  neck — or  his — one  or  t'other." 

When  Zoeth  and  Isaiah  reached  the,  kitchen  they  found 
the  Captain  sitting  in  a  chair,  rubbing  his  knees,  and 
Mary-'Gusta  seated  on  the  floor  beside  the  open  basket, 
hugging  the  frightened  and  struggling  David. 

"I — I  guess  he's  all  right,"  panted  the  child.  "I  was 
so  afraid  he'd  be  killed.  You  ain't  killed,  are  you, 
David?" 

David  appeared  to  be  remarkably  sound  and  active. 
He  wriggled  from  his  owner's  arms  and  bolted  under 
the  stove. 

"No;  he's  all  right,"  said  Mary-'Gusta.  "Isn't  it  nice 
he  ain't  hurt,  Mr. — I  mean  Cap'n  Gould  ?" 

Captain  Shad  rubbed  his  knee.  "Um — yes,"  he  said, 
with  elaborate  sarcasm ;  "it's  lovely.  Course  I  don't  mind 
breakin'  both  my  legs,  but  if  that  cat  had  been — er — 
bruised  or  anything  I  should  have  felt  bad.  Well,  Isaiah," 
he  added,  tartly,  turning  to  the  grinning  "steward,"  "are 
them  fried  potatoes  of  yours  real  or  just  in  your  mind  ?" 

"Eh?  Why — why  they're  right  there  on  the  stove, 
Cap'n  Shad." 

"Want  to  know!  Then  suppose  you  put  'em  on  the 
table.  I'm  hungry  and  I'd  like  to  eat  one  more  square 

60 


MARY-'GUSTA 

meal  afore  somethin'  else  happens  to  finish  me  altogether. 
By  fire!  if  this  ain't  been  a  day!  First  that  chair,  and 
then  that  will  and  letter  of  Marcellus's,  and  then  this. 
Humph !  Come  on,  all  hands,  let's  eat  supper.  I  need 
somethin'  solid  to  brace  me  up  for  tomorrow's  program ; 
if  it's  up  to  this,  I'll  need  strength  to  last  it  through. 
Come  on!" 

That  first  supper  in  the  white  house  by  the  shore  was 
an  experience  for  Mary-'Gusta.  Mrs.  Hobbs,  in  spite  of 
her  faultfinding  and  temper,  had  been  a  competent  and 
careful  housekeeper.  Meals  which  she  prepared  were 
well  cooked  and  neatly  served.  This  meal  was  distinctly 
different.  There  was  enough  to  eat— in  fact,  an  abund 
ance — fried  cod  and  the  fried  potatoes  and  hot  biscuits 
and  dried-apple  pie;  but  everything  was  put  upon  the 
table  at  the  same  time,  and  Mr.  Chase  sat  down  with 
the  others  and  did  not  even  trouble  to  take  off  his  apron. 
The  tablecloth  was  not  very  clean  and  the  knives  and 
forks  and  spoons  did  not  glitter  like  those  the  child  had 
been  accustomed  to  see. 

Even  Mr.  Hamilton,  to  whom  most  of  the  things  of 
this  world — his  beloved  store  excepted — seemed  to  be 
unessential  trivialities,  spoke  of  the  table  linen. 

"Seems  to  me,"  he  observed,  in  his  gentle  and  hesitat 
ing  way,  "this  tablecloth's  sort  of  spotted  up.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Shadrach?" 

Captain  Shad's  reply  was  emphatic  and  to  the  point. 

"Looks  as  if  'twas  breakin'  out  with  chicken-pox,"  he 
replied.  "Ain't  we  got  a  clean  one  in  the  locker,  Isaiah  ?" 

Mr.  Chase's  face  assumed  an  aggrieved  expression. 

"Course  we  have,"  he  answered,  "but  I  didn't  know 
you  was  goin'  to  have  company." 

"Neither  did  we.  But  we  could  stand  a  clean  table 
cloth,  even  at  that." 

61 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I've  got  somethin'  to  do  besides  changin'  tablecloths 
every  day." 

"Every  day !  Every  Thanksgivin'  Day,  you  mean.  This 
one " 

"Now,  look-a-here,  Cap'n  Shad;  you  know  well  as  I 
do  that  Sarah  J.  never  come  to  do  the  washin'  last  week. 
She  was  down  with  the  grip  and  couldn't  move.  If  you 
expect  me  to  do  washin'  as  well  as  cook  and  sweep  and 
keep  house  and — and  shovel  snow,  and " 

"Shovel  snow!  What  kind  of  talk's  that?  There 
ain't  been  any  snow  since  February." 

"Don't  make  no  difference.  When  there  was  I  shoveled 
it,  didn't  I?  It  ain't  no  use;  I  try  and  try,  but  I  can't 
give  satisfaction  and  I  might's  well  quit.  I  don't  have  to 
stay  here  and  slave  myself  to  death.  I  can  get  another 
job.  There's  folks  in  this  town  that's  just  dyin'  to 
have  me  work  for  'em." 

Captain  Shadrach  muttered  something  to  the  effect  that 
if  Isaiah  did  work  for  them  they  might  die  sooner.  Mr. 
Chase  rose  from  his  seat. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  with  dignity.  "All  right,  this  set 
tles  it.  I'm  through.  After  all  the  years  I  sailed  cook 
along  with  you,  Shad  Gould,  and  after  you  beggin'  me — 
yes,  sir,  beggin'  on  your  knees,  as  you  might  say,  for 
me  to  run  this  house  for  you  long  as  you  lived — after 

that,  to — to Good-by.  I'll  try  not  to  lay  it  up  against 

you." 

He  was  moving — not  hastily,  but  actually  moving— 
toward  the  kitchen  door.  Zoeth,  who  was  evidently  much 
disturbed,  rose  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"There,  there,  Isaiah,"  he  pleaded.  "Don't  act  so. 
We  ain't  findin'  any  fault.  Shadrach  wasn't  findin'  fault, 
was  you,  Shadrach?" 

"No,  no,  course  I  wasn't.  Don't  talk  so  foolish,  Isaiah. 

62 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Nobody  wants  you  to  quit.  All  I  said  was Come 

back  here  and  set  down.  Your  tea's  gettin'  all  cold." 

To  Mary-'Gusta  it  seemed  as  if  the  tea  had  been  at 
least  cool  to  begin  with.  However,  Mr.  Chase  suffered 
himself  to  be  led  back  to  the  table  and  attacked  his 
supper  in  injured  silence.  Mary-'Gusta  offered  a  sug 
gestion. 

"I  guess  I  could  wash  a  tablecloth,"  she  said.  "I  al 
ways  wash  my  dolls'  things." 

Her  three  companions  were  plainly  surprised.  The 
Captain  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"You  don't  say!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do.  And,"  with  a  glance  at  the  silver,  "I 
can  scour  knives  and  forks  and  spoons,  too.  I  used  to 
help  Mrs.  Hobbs  scour  'em  sometimes." 

Even  Shadrach  had  no  remark  to  make.  He  gazed  at 
the  child,  then  at  Zoeth,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

As  soon  as  supper  was  over  the  Captain  and  Mr. 
Hamilton  hastened  up  to  the  village  and  the  store. 

"You  better  go  to  bed  pretty  soon,  Mary-'Gusta,"  said 
Zoeth.  "You're  tired,  I  know.  Isaiah'll  make  your  bed 
for  you.  We'll  be  on  hand  and  see  you  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  Isaiah'll  go  up  with  you  and  blow  out  your 
light  and  all.  Good  night." 

The  Captain  said  good  night  also  and  the  pair  hurried 
out. 

When  at  ten  o'clock  they  returned  they  found  Mr. 
Chase  up  and  awaiting  them.  Isaiah  had  a  story  to  tell. 

"I  never  see  a  young-one  like  that  in  this  world," 
declared  Isaiah.  "You  know  what  she  done  after  you 
left  ?  Helped  me  do  the  dishes.  Yes,  sir,  by  time,  that's 
what  she  done.  And  she  wiped  'em  first-rate,  too;  good 
enough  to  satisfy  me,  and  you  know  that  means  somethin' 
'cause  I  ain't  easy  to  satisfy.  And  talk!  Say,  I  never 

63 


MARY-'GUSTA 

had  a  child  talk  same  as  she  does.  How  old  is  she,  for 
the  land  sakes  ?" 

Zoeth  told  them  the  visitor's  age. 

"Well,  maybe  so,"  went  on  Isaiah,  "but  she  don't  talk 
seven;  nigher  seventeen,  if  you  ask  me.  Pumpin'  me 
about  funerals,  she  was,  and  about  folks  dyin'  and  so  on. 
Said  she  cal'lated  she'd  have  a  doll's  funeral  some  time. 
'For  mercy  sakes,  what  for?'  I  says.  'Can't  you  think  up 
anything  pleasanter'n  that  to  play?  That  kind  of  game 
would  give  me  the  blue  creeps!'  She  thought  that  over 
— she  generally  thinks  about  a  thing  for  five  minutes  afore 
she  talks  about  it — and  says  she,  'I  know/  she  says,  'but 
a  person  must  go  to  funerals  and  so  it's  better  to  get 
used  to  'em  and  know  how  to  behave.  I  shouldn't  want 
my  dolls,'  she  says,  'to  do  things  at  funerals  that  make 
people  feel  bad  and  laugh.'  I  couldn't  get  that  through 
my  head.  'If  they  felt  bad  they  wouldn't  laugh,  would 
they?'  says  I.  'They  wouldn't — the  ones  that  felt  bad 
wouldn't,'  says  she,  'but  others  might  laugh  at  them. 
And  that  would  make  the  person  who  was  to  blame  feel 
terribly.'  Now  what  was  all  that  about  ?  Can  you  make 
any  sense  of  it?" 

Captain  Shadrach  smiled  sheepishly.  "I  cal'late  me 
and  Zoeth  have  an  idea  what  she  was  drivin'  at,"  he  said. 
"Go  on,  Isaiah;  what  else  did  she  say?" 

"What  didn't  she  say?  Wanted  to  know  if  I  thought 
God  would  knock  anybody's  head  off  that  had  done 
wrong,  even  if  they. didn't  mean  to.  Yes,  sir,  that's  what 
she  said — if  God  would  knock  anybody's  head  off.  Mine 
pretty  nigh  come  off  when  she  said  that.  I  told  her  that, 
fur's  I  knew,  He  wasn't  in  the  habit  of  doin'  it.  She  said 
that  Mrs.  Hobbs  told  her  that  if  she  wasn't  punished  for 
her  wickedness  in  this  world  she  would  be  in  the  next. 
She  was  real  kind  of  scared  about  it,  seemed  to  me.  Now 

64 


MARY-'GUSTA 

what's  she  done  that's  wicked,  a  little  critter  like  her?" 

Zoeth  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  vexed  and  disturbed. 

"I'd  knock  somebody's  head  off  if  I  had  my  way,"  ob 
served  Shadrach.  "Or  if  I  didn't,  I'd  like  to.  Where  is 
she  now,  Isaiah?" 

"She's  up  in  the  spare  room,  asleep  I  cal'late.  And 
she's  got  her  dolls  along  with  her,  three  on  one  side  and 
two  on  t'other.  Wanted  me  to  be  sure  and  wake  all 
hands  of  'em  up  on  time  in  the  mornin'.  He,  he!  She 
undressed  them  dolls,  every  one  of  'em,  afore  they  turned 
in.  Oh,  yes,  and  she  helped  me  make  the  bed,  too.  She 
can  make  a  bed,  blessed  if  she  can't.  And  all  the  time  a- 
talkin',  one  minute  like  a  child  and  the  next  like  a  forty- 
year-old  woman.  She's  the  queerest  young-one!" 

"I  guess  she's  had  a  kind  of  queer  bringin'  up,"  said 
Zoeth. 

"Where's  that — where's  Saul — er — Elijah — what's  his 
name— David?"  asked  the  Captain.  "Where's  the  cat?" 

"He's  out  in  the  barn,  locked  in.  She  had  to  go  out 
along  with  me  when  I  toted  him  there,  and  kiss  him  good 
night  and  tell  him  not  to  be  frightened,  and  goodness 
knows  what  all — you'd  think  she  was  that  cat's  mother, 
to  hear  her.  How  long's  she  goin'  to  stay?" 

"Don't  know,"  replied  Shadrach,  hastily.  "That  ain't 
settled  yet." 

"How'd  you  come  to  fetch  her  over  here  ?  You're  the 
last  ones  I  ever  thought  would  be  fetchin'  a  child  to  visit 
you.  Say,  you  ain't  cal'latin'  to  keep  her  for  good,  are 
you?" 

Zoeth  hesitated.    Shadrach's  answer  was  emphatic. 

"Course  not,"  he  snapped.  "What  do  Zoeth  and  me 
know  about  managin'  a  child?  Keep  her  for  good,  the 
idea!" 

Isaiah  chuckled.  "  'Cordin'  to  my  notion,"  he  said,  "you 

65 


MARY-'GUSTA 

wouldn't  have  to  know  much.  You  wouldn't  have  to 
manage  her.  If  she  wasn't  managin'  you — yes,  and  me, 
too — inside  of  a  month,  I'd  miss  my  guess.  She's  a  born 
manager.  You  ought  to  see  her  handle  them  dolls  and 
that  cat." 

When  the  two  partners  of  Hamilton  and  Company 
went  upstairs  to  their  own  bedrooms  they  opened  the  door 
of  the  spare  room  and  peeped  in.  Mary-'Gusta's  head 
and  those  of  the  dolls  were  in  a  row  upon  the  pillow. 
It  was  a  strange  sight  in  that  room  and  that  house. 

"I  declare!"  whispered  Zoeth.  "And  this  mornin'  we 
never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  How  long  this  day  has 
been !" 

"Judgin'  by  the  state  of  my  nerves  and  knees  it's 
been  two  year,"  replied  Shadrach.  "I've  aged  that  much, 
I  swan  to  man.  Humph!  I  wonder  if  Marcellus  knows 
what's  happened." 

His  tone  was  not  loud,  but  it  or  the  lamplight  in  her 
face  awakened  Mary-'Gusta.  She  stirred,  opened  her 
eyes  and  regarded  them  sleepily. 

"Is  it  mornin'?"  she  asked. 

"No,  no,"  replied  Zoeth.  "It's  only  ten  o'clock.  Cap 
tain  Shadrach  and  I  was  goin'  to  bed  and  we  looked  in 
to  see  if  you  was  all  right,  that's  all.  You  must  go  right 
to  sleep  again,  dearie." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  obediently.  Then  she 
added,  "I  said  my  prayers  to  myself  but  I'll  say  'em  to 
you  if  you  want  me  to." 

The  embarrassed  Captain  would  have  protested,  but 
the  girl's  mind  seemed  to  be  made  up. 

"I  guess  I  will  say  'em  again,"  she  said.  "There's  some- 
thin'  in  'em  maybe  you'd  ought  to  hear."  She  closed  her 
eyes.  "Please  God  bless  Father— Oh,  I  forgot— bless 
Mrs.  Hobbs  and  Cap'n  Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton.  I 

66 


:_:--::  i:t   Mil     _ :e:.r 
At  Ac  door  of  Ac  Caftaams  mam,  tiry 


CHAPTER   V 

MARY-'GUSTA   awoke  next  morning  to  find  the 
sun  shining  in  at  the  window  of  her  bedroom. 
She  had  no  means  of  knowing  the  time,  but  she 
was  certain  it  must  be  very  late  and,  in  consequence,  was 
almost  dressed  when  Isaiah  knocked  at  the  door  to  tell  her 
breakfast  would  be  ready  pretty  soon.     A  few  minutes 
later  she  appeared  in  the  kitchen  bearing  the  pitcher  from 
the  washstand  in  her  room. 

"What  you  doin'  with  that?"  demanded  Mr.  Chase, 
who  was  leaning  against  the  door-post  looking  out  into 
the  yard. 

"I  was  goin'  to  fill  it,"  said  the  child.  "There  wasn't 
any  water  to  wash  with." 

Isaiah  sniffed.  "I  ain't  had  no  time  to  fill  wash  pitch 
ers,"  he  declared.  "That  one's  been  on  my  mind  for 
more'n  a  fortni't  but  I've  had  other  things  to  do.  You 
can  wash  yourself  in  that  basin  in  the  sink.  That's  what 
the  rest  of  us  do." 

Mary-'Gusta  obediently  washed  in  the  tin  basin  and 
rubbed  her  face  and  hands  dry  upon  the  roller  towel  be 
hind  the  closet  door. 

"Am  I  late  for  breakfast?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"No,  I  guess  not.  Ain't  had  breakfast  yet.  Cap'n 
Shad's  out  to  the  barn  'tendin'  to  the  horse  and  Zoeth's 
feedin'  the  hens.  They'll  be  in  pretty  soon,  if  we  have 
luck.  Course  it's  time  for  breakfast,  but  that's  nothing. 
I'm  the  only  one  that  has  to  think  about  time  in  this 
house." 

68 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  girl  regarded  him  thoughtfully. 

"You  have  to  work  awful  hard,  don't  you,  Mr.  Chase?" 
she  said. 

Isaiah  looked  at  her  suspiciously. 

"Huh  ?"  he  grunted.    "Who  told  you  that  ?" 

"Nobody.     I  just  guessed  it  from  what  you  said." 

"Humph !  Well,  you  guessed  right.  I  don't  have  many 
spare  minutes." 

"Yes,  sir.    Are  you  a  perfect  slave?" 

"Eh?    What?" 

"Mrs.  Hobbs  says  she  is  a  perfect  slave  when  she 
has  to  work  hard." 

"Who's  Mrs.  Hobbs?" 

"She's — she  keeps  house — that  is,  she  used  to  keep 
house  for  my  father  over  in  Ostable.  I  don't  suppose 
she  will  any  more  now  he's  dead.  She'll  be  glad,  I  guess. 
Perhaps  she  won't  have  to  be  a  perfect  slave  now.  She 
used  to  wear  aprons  same  as  you  do.  I  never  saw  a 
man  wear  an  apron  before.  Do  you  have  to  wear 
one?" 

"Hey?  Have  to?  No,  course  I  don't  have  to  unless 
I  want  to." 

Mary-'Gusta  reflected. 

"I  suppose,"  she  went  on,  after  a  moment,  "it  saves 
your  pants.  You'd  get  'em  all  spotted  up  if  you  didn't 
wear  the  apron.  Pneumonia  is  a  good  thing  to  take  out 
spots." 

Isaiah  was  surprised. 

"What  is?"  he  asked. 

"Pneumonia.  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  think  that's  right.  It's 
pneumonia  that  makes  you  sick.  Somethin'  else  takes  out 
the  spots.  I  know  now;  it's  am-monia.  It's  very  good 
for  spots  but  you  mustn't  smell  the  bottle.  I  smelled  the 
bottle  once  and  it  went  right  up  into  my  head." 

69 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talkin'  about?  The  bottle 
went  up  into  your  head !" 

"No,  the  ammonia  smell  did.  It  was  awful;  like — 

like "  she  paused,  evidently  in  search  of  a  simile; 

"like  sneezin'  backwards,"  she  added.  "It  was  terrible." 

Isaiah  laughed.  "I  should  think  'twould  be,"  he  de 
clared.  "Sneezin'  backwards !  Ho,  ho !  That's  a  good 
one!" 

Mary-'Gusta's  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  the  apron. 

"Mr. — I  mean  Cap'n  Gould  said  you  was  the  cook  and 
steward,"  she  observed.  "I  don't  know  as  I  know  what  a 
steward  is,  exactly.  Is  it  the  one  that  stews  things?" 

"Ha,  ha!"  roared  Isaiah.  Mary-'Gusta's  dignity  was 
hurt.  The  color  rose  in  her  cheeks. 

"Was  it  funny?"  she  asked.  "I  didn't  know.  I  know 
that  a  cook  cooked  things,  and  a  baker  baked  things,  so 
I  thought  maybe  a  steward  stewed  'em." 

Mr.  Chase  continued  to  chuckle.    The  girl  considered. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  with  a  solemn  nod.  "It  was  funny, 
I  guess.  I  remember  now  that  a  friar  doesn't  fry  things. 
He  is  a — a  kind  of  minister.  Friar  Tuck  was  one  in 
'Robin  Hood,'  you  know.  Mrs.  Bailey  read  about  him  to 
me.  Do  you  like  'Robin  Hood/  Mr.  Chase  ?" 

Isaiah  said  he  didn't  cal'late  that  he  knew  anybody  of 
that  name.  The  dialogue  was  interrupted  here  by  the" 
arrival  of  Zoeth  and,  a  moment  later,  Captain  Shadrach. 
Breakfast  was  put  upon  the  table  in  the  dining-room 
and  the  quartette  sat  down  to  eat. 

Mary-'Gusta  was  quiet  during  the  meal ;  she  answered 
when  spoken  to  but  the  only  questions  she  asked  were 
concerning  David. 

"He's  all  right,"  said  Captain  Shad.  "Lively  as  can 
be.  He'll  have  a  good  time  out  in  that  barn ;  there's  con 
siderable  many  mice  out  there.  Likes  mice,  don't  he?" 

70 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Yes,  sir.  He's  a  good  mouser.  Did  he  look  as  if 
he  missed  me  ?" 

"Eh?  Well,  I  didn't  notice.  He  never  mentioned  it 
if  he  did.  You  can  go  see  him  after  breakfast.  What 
do  you  think  she  can  find  to  do  today,  Zoeth  ?" 

Mr.  Hamilton  had  evidently  considered  the  problem. 

"I  thought  maybe  she'd  like  to  go  up  to  the  store  'long 
of  you  and  me,"  he  suggested.  "Would  you,  Mary- 
'Gusta?" 

Mary-'Gusta  hesitated.  "I'd  like  to  very  much,"  she 
said,  "only " 

"Only  what?" 

"Only  I've  got  to  see  to  David  and  the  dolls  first. 
Couldn't  I  come  up  to  the  store  afterwards?" 

The  Captain  answered.  "Why,  I  guess  likely  you 
could,"  he  said.  "It's  straight  up  the  road  to  the  corner. 
You  can  see  the  store  from  the  top  of  the  hill  back  here. 
Isaiah'll  show  you  the  way.  But  you  can  'tend  to — what's 
that  cat's  name  ? — Oh,  yes,  David — you  can  'tend  to  David 
right  off.  Isaiah'll  give  the  critter  his  breakfast,  and 
the  dolls  can  wait  'til  noontime,  can't  they?" 

Mary-'Gusta's  mind  was  evidently  divided  between  in 
clination  and  duty.  Duty  won. 

"They  ain't  dressed  yet,"  she  said,  gravely.  "And 
besides  they  might  think  I'd  gone  off  and  left  'em  and  be 
frightened.  This  is  a  strange  place  to  them,  same  as  it  is 
to  me  and  David,  you  know.  None  of  us  have  ever  been 
visitin'  before." 

So  it  was  decided  that  she  should  wait  until  her  family 
had  been  given  parental  attention,  and  come  to  the  store 
by  herself.  The  partners  left  for  their  place  of  business 
and  she  and  Mr.  Chase  remained  at  the  house.  Her 
first  act,  after  leaving  the  table,  was  to  go  to  the  barn 
and  return  bearing  the  cat  in  her  arms.  David  ate  a 


MARY-'GUSTA 

hearty  breakfast  and  then,  after  enduring  a  motherly 
lecture  concerning  prudence  and  the  danger  of  getting 
lost,  was  permitted  to  go  out  of  doors. 

Mary-'Gusta,  standing  in  the  doorway,  gazed  after  her 
pet. 

"I  hope  there's  no  dogs  around  here,"  she  said.  "It 
would  be  dreadful  if  there  was  a  dog." 

Isaiah  tried  to  reassure  her.  "Oh,  I  cal'late  there  ain't 
no  dog  nigh  enough  to  do  any  harm,"  he  said ;  "besides, 
most  cats  can  run  fast  enough  to  get  out  of  the 
way." 

The  child  shook  her  head.  "I  didn't  mean  that," 
she  said.  "I  meant  it  would  be  dreadful  for  the  dog. 
David  doesn't  have  a  mite  of  patience  with  dogs.  He 
doesn't  wait  to  see  if  they're  nice  ones  or  not,  he  just  goes 
for  'em  and  then — Oh!  He  most  always  goes  for  'em. 
When  he  has  kittens  he  always  does." 

Mr.  Chase's  reply  to  this  illuminating  disclosure  was 
that  he  wanted  to  know. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  "David  doesn't  take  to  dogs, 
some  way.  Why  don't  cats  like  dogs,  Mr.  Chase  ?" 

Isaiah  said  that  he  cal'lated  'twas  the  nature  of  the 
critters  not  to.  Mary-'Gusta  agreed  with  him. 

"Natures  are  queer  things,  ain't  they?"  she  said,  sol 
emnly.  "I  guess  everybody  has  a  nature,  cats  and  all. 
Mrs.  Hobbs  says  my  nature  is  a  contrary  one.  What's 
your  kind,  Mr.  Chase? 

"Do  you  suppose,"  she  said,  a  few  moments  later, 
when  the  cook  and  steward  had  shown  symptoms  of 
doing  something  beside  lean  against  the  sink  and  whistle, 
"do  you  suppose  you  could  get  along  for  a  few  minutes 
while  I  went  up  and  dressed  my  dolls?" 

Isaiah  turned  to  stare  at  her. 

"Well,"  he  stammered,  "I— I  cal'late  maybe  I  could  if 

72 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I  tried  hard.     If  you  don't  beat  anything  ever  I  see! 
What  are  you  doin'  with  that  pitcher  ?" 

The  girl  was  holding  the  wash  pitcher  under  the 
pump. 

"I'm  fillin'  it,"  she  answered.  "Then  you  won't  have 
to  have  it  on  your  mind  any  more.  I'll  hurry  back  just 
as  fast  as  I  can." 

She  hastened  out,  bearing  the  brimming  pitcher  with 
both  hands.  Isaiah  gazed  after  her,  muttering  a  word  or 
two,  and  then  set  about  clearing  the  breakfast  table. 

She  was  down  again  shortly,  the  two  favorites,  Rose 
and  Rosette,  in  her  arms.  She  placed  them  carefully  in 
the  kitchen  chair  and  bade  them  be  nice  girls  and  watch 
mother  do  the  dishes. 

"I  left  the  others  in  the  bedroom,"  she  explained. 
"Minnehaha  ain't  very  well  this  mornin'.  I  guess  the 
excitement  was  too  much  for  her.  She  is  a  very  nervous 
child." 

Isaiah's  evident  amusement  caused  her  to  make  one  of 
her  odd  changes  from  childish  make-believe  to  grown-up 
practicability. 

"Of  course,"  she  added,  with  gravity,  "I  know  she 
ain't  really  nervous.  She's  just  full  of  sawdust,  same 
as  all  dolls  are,  and  she  couldn't  have  any  nerves.  But 
I  like  to  play  she's  nervous  and  delicate.  It's  real  handy 
to  say  that  when  I  don't  want  to  take  her  with  me.  I'm 
a  nervous,  excitable  child  myself;  Mrs.  Hobbs  says  so. 
That's  why  I've  hardly  ever  been  anywhere  before,  I 
guess." 

She  insisted  upon  wiping  the  dishes  while  Isaiah 
washed  them.  Also,  she  reminded  him  that  the  table 
cloth  which  had  been  so  severely  criticized  the  previous 
evening  had  not  as  yet  been  changed.  The  steward  was 
inclined  to  treat  the  matter  lightly. 

73   ' 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Never  mind  if  'tain't,"  he  said.  "It's  good  enough  for 
a  spell  longer.  Let  it  stay.  Besides,"  he  added,  "the 
washin'  ain't  been  done  this  week  and  there  ain't  another 
clean  one  aboard." 

Mary-'Gusta  smiled  cheerfully. 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  she  said.  "There's  a  real  nice  one 
in  the  bottom  drawer  of  the  closet.  I've  been  huntin'  and 
I  found  it.  Come  and  see." 

She  led  him  into  the  dining-room  and  showed  him  the 
cloth  she  had  found. 

"It's  a  real  pretty  one,  I  think,"  she  said.  "Shall  we 
put  it  on,  Mr.  Chase?" 

"No,  no,  course  not.  That's  the  best  tablecloth.  Don't 
use  that  only  when  there's  company — or  Sundays." 

Mary-'Gusta  considered.     She  counted  on  her  fingers. 

"How  long  have  we  used  this  dirty  one  ?"  she  asked. 

"Eh?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Four  or  five  days,  maybe." 
Then,  evidently  feeling  that  the  repetition  of  the  "we" 
implied  a  sense  of  unwarranted  partnership  in  the  house 
hold  management,  he  added  with  dignity,  "That  is,  I've 
seen  fit  to  use  it  that  long." 

The  sarcasm  was  wasted.    The  girl  smiled  and  nodded. 

"That  makes  it  all  right,"  she  declared.  "If  we  put 
this  one  on  now  it'll  be  Sunday  long  before  it's  time  to 
change.  And  we  can  wash  the  other  one  today  or  to 
morrow." 

"Oh,  we  can,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Isaiah  looked  as  if  he  wished  to  say  something  but  was 
at  a  loss  for  words.  The  Sunday  cloth  was  spread  upon 
the  table  while  he  was  still  hunting  for  them. 

"And  now,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  "if  you're  sure  you 
don't  need  me  any  more  just  now  I  guess  I'd  like  to  go  up 
and  see  the  store.  May  I?" 

74 


MARY-'GUSTA 

She  found  the  store  of  Hamilton  and  Company  an 
exceedingly  interesting  place.  Zoeth  and  his  partner 
greeted  her  cordially  and  she  sat  down  upon  a  box  at 
the  end  of  the  counter  and  inspected  the  establishment.  It 
was  not  very  large,  but  there  was  an  amazing  variety 
in  its  stock.  Muslin,  tape,  calico,  tacks,  groceries,  cases 
of  shoes,  a  rack  with  spools  of  thread,  another  contain 
ing  a  few  pocket  knives,  barrels,  half  a  dozen  salt  codfish 
swinging  from  nails  overhead,  some  suits  of  oilskins 
hanging  beside  them,  a  tumbled  heap  of  children's  caps 
and  hats,  even  a  glass-covered  case  containing  boxes  of 
candy  with  placards  "i  c.  each"  or  "3  for  I  c."  displayed 
above  them. 

"Like  candy,  do  you?"  asked  Mr.  Hamilton,  noticing 
her  scrutiny  of  the  case  and  its  contents. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mary-'Gusta. 

"How  about  sassafras  lozengers?     Like  them?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  was  supplied  with  a  roll  of  the  lozenges  and 
munched  them  gravely.  Captain  Shad,  who  had  been 
waiting  on  a  customer,  regarded  her  with  an  amused 
twinkle. 

"Sassafras  lozengers  are  good  enough  for  anybody, 
eh?"  he  observed. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mary-'Gusta.  Then  she  added,  po 
litely:  "Only  I  guess  these  are  wintergreen." 

She  stayed  at  the  store  until  noon.  Then  she  walked 
home  with  the  Captain  whose  turn  it  was  to  dine  first  that 
day.  The  hiring  of  Annabel  had  been  an  unusual  break 
in  the  business  routine.  Ordinarily  but  one  of  the  part 
ners  left  that  store  at  a  time. 

"Well,"  inquired  the  Captain,  as  they  walked  down 
the  lane,  "what  do  you  think  of  it?  Pretty  good  store 
for  a  place  like  South  Harniss,  ain't  it  ?" 

75 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  bet  you!    Different  from  the  Ostable  stores,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  I— I  guess  it  is." 

"Um-hm.    Well,  how  different?" 

Mary-'Gusta  took  her  usual  interval  for  consideration. 

"I  guess  there's  more — more  things  in  it  with  separate 
smells  to  'em,"  she  said. 

Captain  Shad  had  no  remark  to  make  for  a  moment. 
Mary-'Gusta,  however,  was  anxious  to  please. 

"They're  nice  smells,"  she  hastened  to  add.  "I  like 
'em ;  only  I  never  smelled  'em  all  at  the  same  time  before. 
And  I  like  the  lozengers  -very  much." 

The  two  or  three  days  which  Captain  Shad  had  set  as 
the  limit  of  th£  child's  visit  passed ;  as  did  the  next  two 
or  three.  She  was  busy  and,  apparently,  enjoying  herself. 
She  helped  Isaiah  with  the  housework,  and  although 
he  found  the  help  not  altogether  unwelcome,  he  was  in 
clined  to  grumble  a  little  at  what  he  called  her  "pesterin' 
around." 

"I  never  see  such  a  young-one,"  he  told  his  employers. 
"/  don't  ask  her  to  do  dishes  nor  fill  pitchers  nor  nothin' ; 
she  just  does  it  on  her  own  hook." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Captain  Shadrach.  "So  I  judged 
from  what  I  see.  Does  it  pretty  well,  too,  don't  she?" 

"Um-hm.  Well  enough,  I  guess.  Yes,"  with  a  burst 
of  candor,  "for  her  age,  she  does  it  mighty  well." 

"Then  what  are  you  kickin'  about?" 

"I  ain't  kickin'.  Who  said  I  was  kickin'?  Only — 
well,  all  I  say  is  let  her  do  dishes  and  such,  if  she  wants 
to,  only — only " 

"Only  what?" 

"Only  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  her  heavin'  out  hints  about 
what  /  ought  to  do.  There's  two  skippers  aboard  this 
craft  now  and  that's  enough.  By  time!"  with  another 

76 


MARY-'GUSTA 

burst,  "that  kid's  a  reg'lar  born  mother.     She  mothers 
that  cat  and  them  dolls  and  the  hens  already,  and  I  swan 
to  man  I  believe  she'd  like  to  adopt  me.    I  ain't  goin'  to  , 
be  mothered  and  hinted  at  to  do  this  and  that  and  put  to 
bed  and  tucked  in  by  no  kid.    I'll  heave  up  my  job  first." 

He  had  been  on  the  point  of  heaving  up  his  job  ever 
since  the  days  when  he  sailed  as  cook  aboard  Captain 
Shadrach's  schooner.  When  the  Captain  retired  from  the 
sea  for  the  last  time,  and  became  partner  and  fellow 
shopkeeper  with  Zoeth,  Isaiah  had  retired  with  him  and 
was  engaged  to  keep  house  for  the  two  men.  The  Cap 
tain  had  balked  at  the  idea  of  a  female  housekeeper. 

"Women  aboard  ship  are  a  dum  nuisance,"  he  declared. 
"I've  carried  'em  cabin  passage  and  I  know.  Isaiah  Chase 
is  a  good  cook,  and,  besides,  if  the  biscuits  are  more  fit 
for  cod  sinkers  than  they  are  for  grub,  I  can  tell  him  so 
in  the  right  kind  of  language.  We  don't  want  no  woman 
steward,  Zoeth ;  you  hear  me !" 

Zoeth,  although  the  Captain's  seafaring  language  was 
a  trial  to  his  gentle,  churchly  soul,  agreed  with  his  part 
ner  on  the  main  point.  His  experience  with  the  other 
sex  had  not  been  such  as  to  warrant  further  experiment. 
So  Isaiah  was  hired  and  had  been  cook  and  steward  at 
the  South  Harniss  home  for  many  years.  But  he  made 
it  a  practice  to  assert  his  independence  at  frequent  inter 
vals,  although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  would  no  more  have 
dreamed  of  really  leaving  than  his  friends  and  employers 
would  of  discharging  him.  Mr.  Chase  was  as  permanent 
a  fixture  in  that  house  as  the  ship's  chronometer  in  the 
dining-room;  and  that  was  screwed  to  the  wall. 

And,  in  spite  of  his  grumbling,  he  and  Mary-'Gusta 
were  rapidly  becoming  fast  friends.  Shadrach  and  Zoeth 
also  were  beginning  to  enjoy  her  company,  her  unex 
pected  questions,  her  interest  in  the  house  and  the  store, 

77 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  shrewd,  old-fashioned  comments  on  persons  and 
things.  She  was  a  "queer  young-one" ;  they,  like  the  peo 
ple  of  Ostable,  agreed  on  that  point, but  Mr.  Hamilton  was 
inclined  to  think  her  ways  "sort  of  takin'  "  and  the  Captain 
admitted  that  maybe  they  were.  What  he  would  not 
admit  was  that  the  girl's  visit,  although  already  prolonged 
for  a  fortnight,  was  anything  but  a  visit. 

"I  presume  likely,"  hinted  Zoeth,  "you  and  me'll  have 
to  give  the  Judge  some  sort  of  an  answer  pretty  soon, 
won't  we?  He'll  be  wantin'  to  know  afore  long." 

"Know  ?    Know  what  ?" 

"Why — why  whether  we're  goin'  to  say  yes  or  no  to 
what  Marcellus  asked  us  in  that  letter." 

"He  does  know.  Fur's  I'm  consarned,  he  knows.  I 
spoke  my  mind  plain  enough  to  pound  through  anybody's 
skull,  I  should  think." 

"Yes — yes,  I  know  you  did.  But,  Shadrach,  if  she 
don't  stay  here  for  good  where  will  she  stay?  She  ain't 
got  anybody  else  to  go  to." 

"She  is  stayin',  ain't  she  ?  She — she's  makin'  us  a  visit, 
same  as  I  said  she  could.  What  more  do  you  want? 
Jumpin'  fire  1  This  fix  is  your  doin'  anyway.  'Tain't 
mine.  If  you  had  paid  attention  to  what  I  said,  the  child 
wouldn't  have  been  here  at  all." 

"Now,  Shadrach!  You  know  you  was  the  one  that 
would  fetch  her  over  that  very  day." 

"Oh,  blame  it  onto  me,  of  course !" 

"I  ain't  blamin'  anybody.  But  she's  here  and  we've  got 
to  decide  whether  to  send  her  away  or  not.  Shall  we  ?" 

They  were  interrupted  by  Mary-'Gusta  herself,  who 
entered  the  barn,  where  the  discussion  took  place,  a  doll 
under  one  arm  and  a  very  serious  expression  on  her  face. 

"Hello!"  hailed  Zoeth.    "What's  the  matter?" 

Mary-'Gusta  seated  herself  upon  an  empty  cranberry 

78 


MARY-'GUSTA 

crate.  The  partners  had  a  joint  interest  in  a  small  cran 
berry  bog  and  the  crate  was  one  of  several  unused  the 
previous  fall. 

"There's  nothin'  the  matter,"  she  said,  solemnly.  "I've 
been  thinkin',  that's  all." 

"Want  to  know !"  observed  the  Captain.  "Well,  what 
made  you  do  anything  as  risky  as  that?" 

Mary-'Gusta's  forehead  puckered. 

"I  was  playin'  with  Jimmie  Bacheldor  yesterday,"  she 
said,  "and  he  made  me  think." 

Abner  Bacheldor  was  the  nearest  neighbor.  His  ram 
shackle  dwelling  was  an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  Gould- 
Hamilton  place.  Abner  had  the  reputation  of  being  the 
meanest  man  in  town;  also  he  had  a  large  family,  of 
which  Jimmie,  eight  years  old,  was  the  youngest. 

"Humph !"  sniffed  Captain  Shad.  "So  Jimmie  Bach 
eldor  made  you  think,  eh  ?  I  never  should  have  expected 
it  from  one  of  that  tribe.  How'd  he  do  it  ?" 

"He  asked  me  about  my  relations,"  said  Mary-'Gusta, 
"and  when  I  said  I  hadn't  got  any  he  was  awful  surprised. 
He  has  ever  so  many,  sisters  and  brothers  and  aunts  and 
cousins  and — Oh,  everything.  He  thought  'twas  dreadful 
funny  my  not  havin'  any.  I  think  I'd  ought  to  have  some, 
don't  you?" 

The  partners,  looking  rather  foolish,  said  nothing  for 
a  moment.  Then  Zoeth  muttered  that  he  didn't  know 
but  she  had. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  "I— I  think  so.  You  see  I'm 
— I  mean  I  was  a  stepchild  'long  as  father  was  here. 
Now  he's  dead  and  I  ain't  even  that.  And  I  ain't 
anybody's  cousin  nor  nephew  nor  niece.  I  just  ain't 
anything.  I'm  different  from  everybody  I  know. 
And — and — "  very  solemnly —  "I  don't  like  to  be  so 
different." 

79 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Her  lip  quivered  as  she  said  it.  Sitting  there  on  the 
cranberry  crate,  hugging  her  dolls,  she  was  a  pathetic 
little  figure.  Again  the  partners  found  it  hard  to  an 
swer.  Mr.  Hamilton  looked  at  the  Captain  and  the  latter, 
his  fingers  fidgeting  with  his  watchchain,  avoided  the  look. 
The  girl  went  on. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "how  nice  'twould  have  been 
if  I'd  had  a — a  brother  or  somebody  of  my  very  own. 
I've  got  children,  of  course,  but  they're  only  dolls  and  a 
cat.  They're  nice,  but  they  ain't  real  folks.  I  wish  I  had 
some  real  folks.  Do  you  suppose  if — if  I  have  to  go  to  the 
— the  orphans'  home,  there'd  be  anybody  there  that  would 
be  my  relation  ?  I  didn't  know  but  there  might  be  another 
orphan  there  who  didn't  have  anybody,  same  as  me,  and 
then  we  could  make  believe  we  was — was  cousins  or 
somethin'.  That  would  be  better  than  nothin',  wouldn't 
it?" 

Zoeth  stepped  forward  and,  bending  over,  kissed  her 
cheek.  "Never  you  mind,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said.  "You 
ain't  gone  there  yet  and  afore  you  do  maybe  Cap'n  Shad 
and  I  can  think  up  some  relations  for  you." 

"Real  relations?"  asked  Mary-'Gusta,  eagerly. 

"Well,  no,  not  real  ones;  I'm  afraid  we  couldn't  do 
that.  But  when  it  comes  to  make-believe,  that  might  be 
different."  He  hesitated  an  instant,  glanced  at  the  Cap 
tain,  and  then  added :  "I  tell  you  what  you  do :  you  just 
pretend  I'm  your  relation,  a — well,  an  uncle,  that's  bet- 
ter'n  nothin'.  You  just  call  me  'Uncle  Zoeth.'  That'll 
be  a  start,  anyhow.  Think  you'd  like  to  call  me  'Uncle 
Zoeth'?" 

Mary-'Gusta's  eyes  shone.  "Oh,  yes!"  she  cried. 
"Then  I  could  tell  that  Jimmie  Bacheldor  I  had  one  rela 
tion,  anyhow.  And  shall  I  call  Cap'n  Gould  'Uncle 
Shadrach'?" 

80 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Zoeth  turned  to  his  companion.  "Shall  she,  Shadrach  ?" 
he  asked,  with  a  mischievous  smile. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  that  smile  the  Captain's  reply 
might  have  been  different.  But  the  smile  irritated  him. 
He  strode  to  the  door. 

"Zoeth  Hamilton,"  he  snapped,  "how  long  are  you 
goin'  to  set  here?  If  you  ain't  got  anything  else  to  at 
tend  to,  I  have.  I'm  goin'  up  to  the  store.  It's  pretty 
nigh  eight  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  and  that  store  ain't  open 
yet." 

"Want  to  come  along,  Mary-'Gusta?"  asked  Zoeth. 
"She  can  come,  can't  she,  Shad?" 

"Yes,  yes,  course  she  can,"  more  genially.  "Cal'late 
there's  some  of  those  sassafras — checkerberry  lozengers 
left  yet.  Come  on,  Mary-'Gusta,  if  you  want  to." 

But  the  child  shook  her  head.  She  looked  wistful  and 
a  trifle  disappointed. 

"I — I  guess  maybe  I'd  better  stay  here,"  she  said.  "I 
ought  to  see  to  Minnehaha's  sore  throat.  I'm  goin'  to 
put  some  red  flannel  'round  it ;  Mr.  Chase  says  he  cal'lates 
he  knows  where  there  is  some.  Good-by,  Uncle  Zoeth. 
Good-by — er — Cap'n  Gould." 

The  partners  did  not  converse  on  the  way  to  the  store. 
Zoeth  made  an  attempt,  but  Shadrach  refused  to  answer. 
He  was  silent  and,  for  him,  grumpy  all  the  forenoon. 
Another  fortnight  passed  before  the  subject  of  the  de 
cision  which  must,  sooner  or  later,  be  given  Judge  Bax 
ter  was  mentioned  by  either  of  the  pair. 


CHAPTER   VI 

MARY-'GUSTA  was  growing  accustomed  to  the 
life  in'the  South  Harniss  home.  She  found  it  a 
great  improvement  over  that  which  she  had 
known  on  Phinney's  Hill  at  Ostable.  There  was  no  Mrs. 
Hobbs  to  nag  and  find  fault,  there  were  no  lonely  meals, 
no  scoldings  when  stockings  were  torn  or  face  and  hands 
soiled.  And  as  a  playground  the  beach  was  a  wonderland. 

She  and  Jimmie  Bacheldor  picked  up  shells,  built  sand 
forts,  skipped  flat  stones  along  the  surface  of  the  water  at 
high  tide,  and  picked  up  scallops  and  an  occasional  qua- 
haug  at  low  water.  Jimmie  was,  generally  speaking,  a  satis 
factory  playmate,  although  he  usually  insisted  upon  having 
his  own  way  and,  when  they  got  into  trouble  because  of 
this  insistence,  did  not  permit  adherence  to  the  truth 
to  obstruct  the  path  to  a  complete  alibi.  Mary-'Gusta, 
who  had  been  taught  by  the  beloved  Mrs.  Bailey  to  con 
sider  lying  a  deadly  sin,  regarded  her  companion's  lapses 
with  alarmed  disapproval,  but  she  was  too  loyal  to  con 
tradict  and  more  than  once  endured  reproof  when  the 
fault  was  not  hers.  She  had  had  few  playmates  in  her 
short  life  and  this  one,  though  far  from  perfect,  was 
a  joy. 

They  explored  the  house  together  and  found  in  the  big 
attic  and  the  stuffy,  shut-up  best  parlor  the  most  fascinat 
ing  of  treasure  hordes.  The  former,  with  its  rows  of  old 
trunks  and  sea  chests  under  the  low  eaves,  the  queer 
garments  and  discarded  hats  hanging  on  the  nails,  the 
dusky  corners  where  the  light  from  the  little  windows 

82 


MARY-'GUSTA 

scarcely  penetrated  even  on  a  sunny  May  afternoon,  was 
the  girl's  especial  Paradise.  Here  she  came  to  play  by 
herself  on  rainy  days  or  when  she  did  not  care  for  com 
pany.  Her  love  of  make-believe  and  romance  had  free 
scope  here  and  with  no  Jimmie  to  laugh  and  make  fun  of 
her  imaginings  she  pretended  to  her  heart's  content.  Dif 
ferent  parts  of  that  garret  gradually,  in  her  mind,  came 
to  have  names  of  their  own.  In  the  bright  spot,  under 
the  north  window,  was  Home,  where  she  and  the  dolls 
and  David — when  the  cat  could  be  coaxed  from  prowlings 
and  mouse  hunts  to  quiet  and  slumber — lived  and  dined 
and  entertained  and  were  ill  or  well  or  happy  or  fright 
ened,  according  to  the  day's  imaginative  happenings. 
Sometimes  Home  was  a  castle,  sometimes  a  Swiss  Family 
Robinson  cave,  sometimes  a  store  which  transacted  busi 
ness  after  the  fashion  of  Hamilton  and  Company.  And 
in  other  more  or  less  fixed  spots  and  corners  were  Eu 
rope,  to  which  the  family  voyaged  occasionally;  Niagara 
Falls — Mrs.  Bailey's  honeymoon  had  been  spent  at  the 
real  Niagara;  the  King's  palace;  the  den  of  the  wicked 
witch;  Sherwood  Forest;  and  Jordan,  Marsh  and  Com 
pany's  store  in  Boston. 

Jimmie  Bacheldor  liked  the  garret  well  enough,  but 
imagination  was  not  his  strongest  quality  and  the  best 
parlor  had  more  charms  for  him.  In  that  parlor  were 
the  trophies  of  Captain  Shadrach's  seafaring  days — 
whales'  teeth,  polished  and  with  pictures  of  ships  upon 
them;  the  model  of  a  Chinese  junk;  a  sea-turtle  shell, 
flippers,  head  and  all,  exactly  like  a  real  turtle  except,  as 
Mary-'Gusta  said,  'it  didn't  have  any  works' ;  a  glass  bot 
tle  with  a  model  of  the  bark  Treasure  Seeker  inside ;  an 
Eskimo  lance  with  a  bone  handle  and  an  ivory  point;  a 
cocoanut  carved  to  look  like  the  head  and  face  of  a 
funny  old  man;  a  Cuban  machete;  and  a  set  of  ivory 

83 


MARY-'GUSTA 

chessmen  with  Chinese  knights  and  kings  and  queens,  all 
complete  and  set  out  under  a  glass  cover. 

The  junk  and  the  lance  and  the  machete  and  the  rest 
had  a  fascination  for  Jimmie,  as  they  would  have  had 
for  most  boys,  but  for  him  the  parlor's  strongest  tempta 
tion  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  children  were  forbidden  to 
play  there.  Zoeth  and  the  Captain,  having  been  brought 
up  in  New  England  families  of  the  old-fashioned  kind, 
revered  their  parlor  as  a  place  too  precious  for  use.  They, 
themselves,  entered  it  not  oftener  than  three  times  a  year, 
and  Isaiah  went  there  only  when  he  felt  inclined  to  dust, 
which  was  not  often.  Shadrach  had  exhibited  its  treas 
ures  to  the  children  one  Sunday  morning  when  Zoeth 
was  at  church,  but  he  cautioned  them  against  going  there 
by  themselves.  "You'd  be  liable  to  break  somethin'," 
he  told  them,  "and  some  of  them  things  in  there 
you  couldn't  buy  with  money.  They've  been  brought 
from  pretty  much  everywheres  in  creation,  those  things 
have." 

But,  in  spite  of  the  warning,  or  because  of  it,  Jimmie 
was,  as  Isaiah  would  have  said,  "possessed"  to  visit  that 
parlor.  He  coaxed  and  teased  and  dared  Mary-'Gusta 
to  take  advantage  of  the  steward's  stepping  out  of  the 
house  or  being  busy  in  the  kitchen  to  open  that  parlor 
door  and  go  in  with  him  and  peep  at  and  handle  the 
treasures.  Mary-'Gusta  protested,  but  young  Bacheldor 
called  her  a  coward  and  declared  he  wouldn't  play  with 
cowards  and  'f raid-cats,  so  rather  than  be  one  of  those 
detestable  creatures  she  usually  swallowed  her  scruples 
and  followed  the  tempter.  It  was  a  risk,  of  course,  but 
a  real  adventure;  and,  like  many  adventurers,  the  pair 
came  to  grief.  They  took  David  into  the  parlor  and  the 
cat  wriggled  from  its  owner's  arms,  jumped  upon  the 
table,  knocked  the  case  containing  the  chessmen  to  the 

84 


MARY-'GUSTA 

floor,  and  not  only  broke  the  glass  but  decapitated  one 
of  the  white  knights. 

Even  the  mild  Mr.  Hamilton  was  incensed  when  Isaiah 
told  the  news  at  supper  time.  And  Captain  Shad,  who 
had  bought  those  chessmen  at  Singapore  from  the  savings 
of  a  second  mate's  wages,  lost  patience  entirely. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  young-ones  not  to  go  into  that  par 
lor?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  sir,"  admitted  Mary-'Gusta,  contritely. 

"Yes,  by  fire,  I  did!    And  you  went  just  the  same." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  fetched  that  everlastin' — er — Goliath  in 
there,  too.  Don't  you  know  you've  been  a  bad  girl  ?" 

"Ye— yes,  sir." 

Zoeth  protested.  "She  ain't  a  bad  girl,  Shadrach," 
he  said.  "You  know  she  ain't." 

"Well — er — maybe  she  ain't,  generally  speakin'.  I 
cal'late  'twas  that  Bacheldor  brat  that  was  responsible; 
but  just  the  same  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  it  happen  any 
more.  Mary-'Gusta,  if  you  and  that  consarned — what's- 
his-name — Jimmie — go  into  that  parlor  again,  unless 
Isaiah  or  one  of  us  are  with  you,  I — I — by  the  jumpin' 
Judas,  me  and  Zoeth  won't  let  you  go  to  the  Sunday 
school  picnic.  There!  I  mean  that  and  so  does  Zoeth. 
Shut  up,  Zoeth!  You  do  mean  it,  too.  You  know 
mighty  well  either  your  dad  or  mine  would  have  skinned 
us  alive  if  we'd  done  such  a  thing  when  we  was  young- 
ones.  And,"  turning  to  the  culprit,  "if  you  fetch  that  cat 
in  there,  I'll—I'll— I  don't  know  what  I'll  do." 

The  Sunday  school  picnic  was  to  be  held  on  the  second 
Saturday  in  June  and  Mary-'Gusta  wished  to  attend  it. 
She  had  never  been  to  a  real  picnic,  though  the  oth'er 
children  in  Ostable  had  described  such  outings  in  glow 
ing  colors.  Now,  although  she,  a  visitor,  was  not  a  regu- 

85 


MARY-'GUSTA 

lar  member  of  the  South  Harniss  Methodist  Sunday 
school,  the  superintendent  personally  had  invited  her  to 
go  and  Zoeth  and  the  Captain  had  given  their  consent. 
Not  to  go  would  be  a  heart-breaking  calamity.  She  finally 
resolved  to  be  very,  very  good  and  obedient  from  that 
time  on. 

But  good  resolutions  are  broken  occasionally,  even  by 
grown-ups,  and  in  childhood  much  can  be  forgotten  in 
nine  days.  So,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  tenth  day,  which 
was  the  day  before  the  picnic,  Mary-'Gusta  walking  alone 
in  the  field  which  separated  the  Gould-Hamilton  property 
from  that  of  Abner  Bacheldor,  Jimmie's  father — Mary- 
'Gusta,  walking  in  that  field,  was  depressed  and  melan 
choly.  Her  state  of  mind  was  indicated  by  the  fact  that 
she  had  left  all  her  dolls,  even  Rose  and  Rosette,  at  home. 
She  felt  guilty  and  wicked  and  conscience-stricken.  She 
had  been  a  bad  girl;  only  one  other  knew  how  bad  she 
had  been  and  he,  being  guilty  likewise,  would  not  betray 
her.  But  at  home  Isaiah  Chase  was,  as  he  said,  "heatin' 
himself  to  a  bile"  baking  apple  turnovers  for  her  to  take 
to  the  picnic.  And  Captain  Shadrach  had  announced  his 
intention  of  bringing  her,  from  the  store,  candy  and 
bananas  to  go  into  the  lunch  basket  with  the  turnovers 
and  sandwiches  and  cake.  And  the  Captain  had  that  very 
day  called  her  a  good  girl.  If  he  only  knew ! 

There  had  been  a  flurry  of  excitement  in  the  kitchen 
just  after  dinner.  Mr.  Bacheldor  had  appeared  at  the 
door  with  the  request  that  he  might  "borrer  the  loan 
of  Cap'n  Gould's  shotgun."  The  day  before,  at  a  quar 
ter  after  four — Mr.  Bacheldor  was  certain  as  to  the  time 
because  he  had  been  "layin'  down  two  or  three  minutes 
on  the  sofy  afore  goin'  out  to  look  at  some  wood  there 
was  to  cut  in  the  shed,  and  I'd  just  got  up  and  looked 
at  the  clock  afore  I  looked  out  of  the  settin'-room  win- 

86 


MARY-'GUSTA 

der" — looking  out  of  that  window  he  had  seen  a  cat  run 
ning  from  his  henyard  with  one  of  his  recently  hatched 
Plymouth  Rock  chickens  in  its  mouth. 

"If  I'd  had  a  gun  then,"  declared  Abner,  "I  could  have 
blowed  the  critter  to  thunder-and-gone.  But  I'll  get  him 
next  time.  Let  me  have  the  gun,  will  you,  Isaiah?  I 
know  Shad'll  say  it's  all  right  when  you  tell  him." 

That  shotgun  was  a  precious  arm.  It  had  been  given 
to  the  Captain  years  before  by  the  officers  of  a  sinking 
schooner,  whom  Shadrach's  boat's  crew,  led  by  Shadrach 
himself,  had  rescued  at  a  big  risk  off  the  Great  South 
School.  It  had  the  Captain's  name,  with  an  inscription 
and  date,  on  a  silver  plate  fastened  to  the  stock.  Isaiah 
was  not  too  willing  to  lend  it,  but  chicken  stealing  is  a 
capital  offense  in  South  Harniss,  as  it  is  in  most  rural 
communities,  and  the  cat  caught  in  the  act  is  summarily 
executed. 

So  Mr.  Chase  went  to  the  Captain's  room  and  returned 
with  the  gun. 

"There  you  be,  Ab,"  he  said.  "Hope  you  get  the  crit 
ter." 

"Oh,  I'll  get  him  all  right,  don't  you  fret.  Say,  Isaiah 

— er — er "  Mr.  Bacheldor  hesitated.  "Say,"  he  went 

on,  "you  couldn't  let  me  have  two  or  three  cartridges, 
could  you  ?  I  ain't  got  none  in  the  house." 

Isaiah  looked  more  doubtful  than  ever,  but  he  brought 
the  cartridges.  After  making  sure,  by  inquiry  and  in 
spection,  that  they  were  loaded,  the  borrower  started 
to  go. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Ab,"  Mr.  Chase  called  after  him;  "know 
whose  cat  'twas?" 

Mr.  Bacheldor  did  not  appear  to  hear,  so  the  question 
was  repeated.  Abner  answered  without  turning. 

"I  know,"  he  declared.  "I  know  all  right,"  and  hur- 

87 


MARY-'GUSTA 

ried  on.    Isaiah  looked  after  him  and  sniffed  disdainfully. 

"Anybody  on  earth  but  that  feller,"  he  said,  "would 
have  been  ashamed  to  beg  cartridges  after  beggin'  the  gun, 
but  not  Ab  Bacheldor,  no  sir!  Wonder  he  didn't  want 
to  borrer  my  Sunday  hat  to  practice  shootin'  at." 

Mary-'Gusta  considered  shooting  a  cat  the  height  of 
cruelty  and  dreadfulness  but  she  was  aware  of  the  uni 
versal  condemnation  of  chicken  stealing  and  kept  her 
thought  to  herself.  Besides,  she  had  her  own  wickedness 
to  consider. 

She  walked  slowly  on  across  the  field,  bound  nowhere 
in  particular,  thinking  hard  and  feeling  very  wretched 
and  miserable.  The  pleasure  of  the  next  day,  the  day  she 
had  been  anticipating,  was  spoiled  already  for  her.  If 
she  went  to  that  picnic  without  making  a  full  and  free 
confession  she  knew  she  would  feel  as  mean  and  mis 
erable  as  she  was  feeling  now.  And  if  she  did  confess, 
why  then 

Her  meditations  were  interrupted  in  a  startling  man 
ner.  She  was  midway  of  the  field,  upon  the  other  side 
of  which  was  a  tumbledown  stone  wall,  and  a  cluster  of 
wild  cherry  trees  and  bayberry  bushes  marking  the 
boundary  of  the  Bacheldor  land.  From  behind  the  wall 
and  bushes  sounded  the  loud  report  of  a  gun;  then  the 
tramp  of  running  feet  and  an  excited  shouting: 

"You  missed  him,"  screamed  a  voice.  "You  never 
hit  him  at  all.  There  he  goes !  There  he  goes !  Give  him 
t'other  barrel  quick !" 

Mary-'Gusta,  who  had  been  startled  nearly  out  of  her 
senses  by  the  shot  and  the  shouting,  stood  perfectly  still, 
too  surprised  and  frightened  even  to  run.  And  then  out 
of  the  bushes  before  her  darted  a  scared  tortoise-shell 
cat,  frantically  rushing  in  her  direction.  The  cat  was 
David. 

88 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"He's  hidin'  in  them  bushes,"  shouted  the  voice  again. 
"Stay  where  you  be,  Pop.  I'll  scare  him  out  and  then  you 
give  it  to  him." 

Mary-'Gusta  stood  still  no  longer.  The  sight  of  her 
idolized  pet  running  for  his  life  was  enough  to  make 
her  forget  fright  and  everything  else.  She  too  ran,  but 
not  toward  home. 

"David!"  she  screamed.  "Oh,  David!  Come  here! 
David!" 

David  may  have  recognized  the  voice,  but  if  so  the 
recognition  made  no  difference.  The  cat  kept  straight  on. 
The  girl  ran  across  its  path.  It  dodged  and  darted  into 
a  beachplum  thicket,  a  cul-de-sac  of  tangled  branches  and 
thick  grass.  Before  the  animal  could  extricate  itself 
Mary-'Gusta  had  seized  it  in  her  arms.  It  struggled  and 
fought  for  freedom  but  the  child  held  it  tight. 

"David !"  she  panted.  "Oh,  don't,  David !  Please  be 
still!  They  shan't  hurt  you;  I  won't  let  'em.  Please!" 

Through  the  bushes  above  the  wall  appeared  the 
freckled  face  of  Con — christened  Cornelius — Bacheldor. 
Con  was  Jimmie's  elder  brother. 

"He  must  have  got  through,"  he  shouted.  "He — no, 
there  he  is.  She's  got  him,  Pop.  Make  her  put  him 
down." 

Mr.  Abner  Bacheldor  crashed  through  to  his  son's 
side.  He  was  carrying  a  gun. 

"You  put  that  cat  down,"  screamed  Con,  threateningly. 

Mary-'Gusta  said  nothing.  Her  heart  was  beating 
wildly  but  she  held  the  struggling  David  fast. 

"It's  that  kid  over  to  Shad  Gould's,"  declared  Con. 
"Make  her  give  you  a  shot,  Pop." 

Mr.  Abner  Bacheldor  took  command  of  the  situation. 

"Here,  you !"  he  ordered.  "Fetch  that  critter  here.  I 
want  him." 

89 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Still  Mary-'Gusta  did  not  answer.  She  was  pale  and 
her  small  knees  shook,  but  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved 
from  where  she  stood.  And  her  grip  upon  the  cat  tight 
ened. 

"Fetch  that  cat  here,"  repeated  Abner.  "We're  goin' 
to  shoot  him ;  he's  been  stealin'  our  chickens." 

At  this  accusation  and  the  awful  threat  accompanying 
it,  Mary-'Gusta  forgot  her  terror  of  the  Bacheldors,  of 
the  gun,  forgot  everything  except  her  pet  and  its 
danger. 

"I  shan't !"  she  cried  frantically.  "I  shan't !  He  ain't ! 
He's  my  cat  and  he  don't  steal  chickens." 

"Yes,  he  does,  too,"  roared  Con.  "Pop  and  I  see  him 
doin'  it." 

"You  didn't!  I  don't  believe  it!  When  did  you  see 
him?" 

"Yesterday  afternoon.    We  see  him,  didn't  we,  Pop?" 

"You  bet  your  life  we  did,"  growled  Abner.  "And  he 
was  on  my  land  again  just  now;  comin'  to  steal  more,  I 
cal'late.  Fetch  him  here." 

"I — I  shan't!  He  shan't  be  shot,  even  if  he  did  steal 
'em.  And  I  know  he  didn't.  If  you  shoot  him  I'll — I'll 
tell  Uncle  Zoeth  and — and  Cap'n  Gould.  And  I  won't  let 
you  have  him  anyhow.  I  won't,"  with  savage  defiance. 
"If  you  shoot  him  you'll  have  to  shoot  me,  too." 

Con  climbed  over  the  wall.  "You  just  wait,  Pop,"  he 
said.  "I'll  take  him  away  from  her." 

But  his  father  hesitated.  There  were  certain  reasons 
why  he  thought  it  best  not  to  be  too  arbitrary. 

"Hold  on,  Con,"  he  said.  "Look  here,  sis,  I'm  sorry 
to  have  to  kill  your  cat,  but  I've  got  to.  He  steals  chick 
ens  and  them  kind  of  cats  has  to  be  shot.  I  see  him 
myself  yesterday  afternoon.  I  told  Isaiah  Chase  myself 
that  .  .  .  why,  you  was  there  and  heard  me !  You  heard 

90 


MARY-'GUSTA 

me  tell  how  I  was  lookin'  out  of  the  winder  at  quarter 
past  four  and  see  that  cat " 

Mary-'Gusta  interrupted.  Her  expression  changed. 
She  was  still  dreadfully  frightened  but  in  her  tone  was 
a  note  of  relief,  of  confident  triumph. 

"You  didn't  see  him,"  she  cried.  "It  wasn't  David ;  it 
wasn't  this  cat  you  saw.  I  know  it  wasn't." 

"Well,  I  know  it  was.  Now  don't  argue  no  more. 
You  fetch  that  cat  here  or  I'll  have  Con  take  him  away 
from  you.  Hurry  up !" 

"I  know  it  wasn't  David,"  began  Mary-'Gusta.  Then, 
as  Con  started  in  her  direction,  she  turned  and  ran,  ran 
as  hard  as  she  could,  bearing  David  in  her  arms.  Con 
ran  after  her. 

It  was  the  cat  that  saved  the  situation  and  its  life  at 
the  same  time.  Mary-'Gusta  was  near  the  edge  of  the 
pine  grove  and  Con  was  close  at  her  heels.  David  gave 
one  more  convulsive,  desperate  wriggle,  slid  from  the 
girl's  arms  and  disappeared  through  the  pines  like  a  gray 
projectile. 

Mary-'Gusta  collapsed  on  the  grass  and  burst  into 
frightened,  hysterical  sobs.  Con  took  one  or  two  steps 
after  the  flying  cat  and  gave  up  the  chase.  Mr.  Bachel- 
dor,  from  behind  the  wall,  swore  emphatically  and  at 
length. 

"Come  here,  Con,  you  fool,"  he  yelled,  when  the  ex 
pression  of  his  true  feelings  had  reached  a  temporary  end. 
"Come  here !  let  the  kid  alone.  We'll  get  into  trouble  if 
we  don't.  As  for  that  dummed  cat,  we'll  get  him  next 
time.  He'll  see  his  finish.  Come  on,  I  tell  you." 

Con  reluctantly  rejoined  his  parent  and  the  pair  de 
parted,  muttering  threats.  Mary-'Gusta,  the  tears  run 
ning  down  her  cheeks,  ran  home  to  find  David  and  plead 
with  Mr.  Chase  for  her  pet's  safety  and  protection  from 


MARY-'GUSTA 

its  persecutors.  But  Isaiah  had  gone  up  to  the  store  on 
an  errand.  David,  however,  was  crouching,  a  trembling 
heap,  under  the  kitchen  stove.  The  girl  pulled  him  out, 
fled  with  him  to  the  garret,  and  there,  with  the  door 
locked,  sat  shivering  and  sobbing  until  Captain  Shad  came 
home  for  supper  that  night. 

The  Captain's  first  question  when  he  arrived  was  con 
cerning  Mary-'Gusta's  whereabouts.  Isaiah  said  he  had 
not  seen  her  for  two  hours  or  more.  And  just  then  the 
child  herself  appeared,  entering  the  kitchen  from  the 
door  leading  to  the  back  stairs. 

"Hello,  Mary-'Gusta !"  hailed  Shadrach.  "Thought  you 
was  lost.  Supper's  about  ready  to  put  on  the  table. 
Why,  what's  the  matter?  Been  cryin',  ain't  you?" 

Mary-'Gusta  went  straight  to  him  and  clutched  his 
hand.  "Please,  Cap'n  Gould,"  she  begged,  "will  you  come 
into  the  sittin'-room  a  minute?  I — I  want  to  ask  you 
somethin'.  I  want  you  to  do  somethin'  for  me,  will  you  ?" 

"Sartin  sure  I  will.    What  is  it  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  glanced  at  Isaiah's  face.  "I'd — I'd  rather 
tell  you,  just  you  alone,"  she  said.  "Please  come  into 
the  sittin'-room." 

She  tugged  at  his  hand.  Much  puzzled,  he  followed 
her  through  the  dining-room  and  into  the  sitting-room. 

"Well,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  kindly,  "now  what  is  it? 
What's  the  big  secret  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  closed  the  door.  She  was  very  solemn 
and  her  lip  quivered  but  she  did  not  hesitate. 

"It's  about  David,"  she  said.  "Somethin's  happened 
to  David.  I— I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  about  it,  Cap'n  Gould." 

She  told  of  her  adventure  and  of  David's  peril.  Shad 
rach  listened.  When  he  heard  of  the  accusation  which 
was  the  cause  of  the  affair  he  shook  his  head. 

"My,  my !"  he  exclaimed.  "That's  pretty  bad,  that  is. 

92 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I'd  hate  to  have  your  cat  killed,  Mary-'Gusta,  land  knows 
I  would.  But  if  the  critter's  a  chicken  thief " 

"But  he  ain't !    I  know  he  ain't !" 

"Humph!  You  can't  always  tell,  you  know  cats  are 
cats  and " 

"But  I  know  David  wasn't  the  cat  that  did  it.  I 
know  he  wasn't." 

"Oh,  you  know,  do  you.  Hm!  you  do  seem  pretty 
sartin,  that's  a  fact.  How  do  you  know?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him.  "Please,  Cap'n  Gould,"  she 
said,  "I — I'd  rather  tell  you  over  to  Mr.  Bacheldor's. 
That's  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you;  won't  you  please  go 
right  over  to  Mr.  Bacheldor's  with  me?  I — I'll  tell 
you  how  I  know  when  we're  there." 

Captain  Shadrach  was  more  puzzled  than  ever.  "You 
want  me  to  go  to  Ab  Bacheldor's  with  you?"  he  re 
peated.  "You  want  to  tell  me  somethin'  over  there? 
Why  not  tell  me  here  ?" 

"  'Cause — 'cause  Mr.  Bacheldor  thinks  David  did  it 
and  he'll  kill  him.  He  said  he  would.  I  want  him  to 
know  David  wasn't  the  one.  And  if,  if  you're  there 
when  he  knows,  he'll  know  you  know  he  knows  and  he 
won't  dast  shoot  at  David  any  more.  Please  come, 
Cap'n  Gould.  Please,  right  away." 

Shadrach  tugged  at  his  beard.  "Humph!"  he  mut 
tered.  "There's  more  'knows'  in  that  than  there  is 
knots  in  a  snarled  fish  line.  You  want  me  as  a  wit 
ness,  nigh's  I  can  make  out.  Is  that  it?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Will  you  go  with  me  right  off?" 

"Right  off,  eh?    Can't  it  wait  till  after  supper?" 

"I — I  don't  want  any  supper.    Please!" 

So  supper  was  postponed,  in  spite  of  Isaiah's  grum 
blings,  and  the  Captain  and  Mary-'Gusta  started  forth 
with  for  the  home  of  their  nearest  neighbor.  Mr. 

93 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Chase,  his  curiosity  aroused,  would  have  asked  a  dozen 
questions,  but  Mary-'Gusta  would  neither  answer  nor 
permit  Shadrach  to  do  so. 

The  Bacheldor  family  were  at  supper  when  the  callers 
arrived.  Abner  himself  opened  the  door  and  he  looked 
rather  embarrassed  when  he  saw  the  pair  on  the  steps. 
Captain  Shad  did  not  wait  for  an  invitation  to  enter; 
he  walked  in  and  Mary-'Gusta  followed  him. 

"Now  then,  Ab,"  said  the  Captain,  briskly,  "what's  this 
about  our  cat  stealin'  your  chickens?" 

Mr.  Bacheldor  and  Con,  separately  and  together,  burst 
into  a  tirade  of  invective  against  the  offending  David, 

"That's  all  right,  that's  all  right,"  broke  in  the  Cap 
tain,  crisply.  "If  that  cat  stole  your  chicken  it  ought 
to  be  shot.  But  are  you  sure  of  the  cat?  Do  you 
know  ours  did  it?  This  girl  here  says  'twasn't  ours 
at  all." 

"I  know  a  dum  sight  better,"  began  Abner,  savagely. 
But  this  time  it  was  Mary-'Gusta  who  interrupted. 

"Cap'n  Gould,"  she  said,  "please  ask  him  what  time  it 
was  yesterday  afternoon  when  he  saw  the  cat  run  off 
with  the  chicken." 

Bacheldor  did  not  wait  to  be  asked. 

1  'Twas  quarter-past  four  yesterday  afternoon,"  he 
declared.  "I  know  the  time." 

"I  don't  see  what  the  time's  got  to  do  with  it,"  put 
in  Shadrach. 

"But  it's  got  everything  to  do  with  it,"  urged  Mary- 
'Gusta.  "Honest  truly  it  has." 

"Oh,  it  has,  eh?    Why?" 

"  'Cause—  'cause — Ask  him  if  he's  sure?" 

Again  Abner  did  not  wait.  "Course  I'm  sure,"  he  re 
plied.  "I  told  Isaiah  Chase — yes,  and  I  told  that  young- 
one,  too — that  I  looked  at  the  clock  just  afore  I  looked 

94 


MARY-'GUSTA 

out  of  the  window  and  see  the  critter  in  the  very  act. 
Yes,  and  Con  see  him  too." 

Mary-'Gusta  stamped  her  foot  in  triumph.  "Then  it 
wasn't  David,"  she  said.  "It  wasn't  David  at  all.  'Twas 
somebody  else's  cat,  Mr.  Bacheldor." 

"Somebody  else's  nothin' !  Don't  you  suppose  I 
know " 

"Hold  on!  Heave  to,  Ab.  Mary-'Gusta,  how  do 
you  know  'twasn't  our  cat?" 

"  'Cause — 'cause  David  was  with  me  from  four  o'clock 
till  most  five;  that's  how.  He  was  in  the — in  our 
house  with  me.  So,"  triumphantly,  "he  couldn't  have 
been  anywhere  else,  could  he?" 

Con  and  his  father  both  began  a  protest,  but  Shad- 
rach  cut  it  short. 

"Keep  still,  for  mercy  sakes,"  he  ordered.  "This  ain't 
Shoutin'  Methodist  camp  meetin'.  Let's  get  soundin's 
here.  Now,  Mary-'Gusta,  you  say  the  cat  was  with 
you  from  four  till  five;  you're  sure  of  that?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  know  because  Mr.  Chase  had  gone  out 
and  we  knew  he  wouldn't  be  back  until  five  'cause  he 
said  he  wouldn't.  So  we  looked  at  the  clock  before 
we  went  in." 

"Went  in?    Went  in  where?" 

The  girl  hung  her  head.  It  was  evident  that  the 
answer  to  this  question  was  one  she  dreaded  to  make. 
But  she  made  it,  nevertheless. 

"Before  we  went  into — into  the  parlor,"  she  said, 
faintly. 

Captain  Shad  was  the  only  one  of  her  hearers  who 
grasped  the  full  significance  of  this  confession.  No, 
there  was  one  other,  and  he  turned  red  and  then  white. 

"The  parlor?"  repeated  the  Captain,  slowly.  "The 
best  parlor?" 

95 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Ye-yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  mean  you  went  into  the  best  parlor  over  to 
our  house  and — and  took  that  cat  in  with  you?' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I  swan  to  man!  Did  you  forget  what  I  told 
you  would  happen  if  you  went  into  that  parlor  again? 
And  especially  if  you  lugged  that  cat  in?  Did  you 
forget  that? 

"N-no,  sir.  I  didn't  forget  it.  You — you  said  I 
couldn't  go  to  the  picnic." 

Shadrach  shook  his  head.  "Well,"  he  groaned,  "if 
this  don't  beat  the  nation!  What  under  the  sun  did 
you  do  it  for?" 

"  'Cause — 'cause  we  wanted  to  play  pirates  with — with 
the  swords  and  things,"  faltered  Mary-'Gusta.  "And 
we  took  David  'cause  he  was  goin'  to  be  one  of 
the  passengers  on  the  ship  we  took.  But,"  with  a  sud 
den  return  to  the  main  point  at  issue,  "that  proves 
David  wasn't  the  cat  he  saw,  the  one  that  stole  his 
chicken." 

The  Captain  looked  at  her.  "By  fire,  it  does,  that's 
right,"  he  muttered.  Abner  Bacheldor  roared  in  indig 
nation. 

"It  don't  prove  nothin',"  he  cried.  "All  it  proves  is 
that  the  kid's  a  liar.  She's  lyin'  so's  to  save  that  dummed 
thief  of  a  cat.  All  kids'll  lie  when  they  think  they  can 
make  somethin'  out  of  it." 

Shadrach  grunted.  "Maybe  so,"  he  said,  "but  I  ain't 
caught  this  one  in  a  lie  so  far.  And  I  doubt  if  she's 
lyin'  now.  Now,  Mary-'Gusta,  is  there  any  way  you 
can  prove  you  was  in  that  parlor,  and — what's  his 
name — David  was  there  at  the  time  you  say  ?  Is  there  ?" 

Again  Mary-'Gusta  hesitated.  Her  eyes  wandered 
about  the  faces  in  the  room,  until  their  gaze  rested  upon 

96 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  face  of  Jimmie  Bacheldor.  And  Jimmie  looked 
white  and  scared. 

"N-no,  sir,  I — I  guess  not,"  she  faltered. 

"I  guess  not,  too,"  declared  Con,  with  a  sarcastic 
laugh. 

But  the  Captain  was  suspicious.  He  had  seen  the 
child's  look. 

"Hold  on,"  he  commanded.  "There's  more  to  this 
than  a  blind  man  could  see  through  a  board  fence. 
Mary-'Gusta,  was  there  anybody  else  except  David  in 
that  parlor  along  with  you?  Was  there?" 

Mary-'Gusta  looked  at  the  floor. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  faltered. 

"So?  I  kind  of  had  an  idea  there  might  be.  Who 
was  it  ?" 

Again  the  look  and  then:    "I — I  ain't  goin'  to  tell." 

Con  laughed  once  more.  "You  bet  she  ain't,"  he 
exclaimed.  "She  can't.  The  whole  yarn's  a  lie.  Don't 
pay  no  attention  to  it,  Pop." 

Shadrach  turned  sharply  in  his  direction.  "I'm  payin' 
attention  to  it,"  he  snapped,  "and  that's  enough.  So  you 
ain't  goin'  to  tell,  Mary-'Gusta,  eh?  Remember  now, 
if  you  do  tell  it'll  prove  your  story's  true  and  David'll 
come  out  on  top.  Think  it  over." 

Evidently  Mary-'Gusta  was  thinking  it  over.  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

The  Captain  looked  down  at  her.  "Keepin'  mum, 
eh?"  he  said.  "Well,  that's  all  right.  I  cal'late  we're 
pretty  good  guessers,  some  of  us,  anyway.  Jim,"  with 
a  sudden  look  straight  at  the  youngest  member  of  his 
neighbor's  family,  who  was  fidgeting  with  his  spoon  and 
acting  remarkably  nervous,  "what  have  you  got  to  say? 
Have  a  good  time  in  that  parlor  playin'  pirates,  did 
you?" 

97 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Jimmie  gasped.  The  suddenness  of  the  attack  knocked 
his  defenses  flat.  He  gurgled,  stammered,  and  then 
broke  into  a  wail  of  distress. 

"I— I  didn't  mean  to,"  he  sobbed,  wildly.  "Twas 
her.  She  said  do  it;  I  never.  I — I " 

"Why,  Jimmie  Bacheldor!"  exclaimed  Mary-'Gusta, 
shocked  into  protest  by  her  fellow  culprit's  distortion 
of  the  truth.  "How  can  you  say  so!  What  a  story! 
You  know " 

"I  guess  he  knows,"  broke  in  Shadrach.  "And  I 
cal'late  I  know,  too.  Now  then,  Jim,  what  time  was  it 
when  you  looked  at  the  clock?  Shut  up,  Abner,  let 
the  boy  answer.  Tell  us,  Jim ;  nobody'll  hurt  you." 

"It — it  was  four  o'clock,"  hollered  Jimmie,  in  agony. 
"I — I  never  done  it  a  purpose.  I  won't  do  so  no  more." 

"No,  I  don't  cal'late  you  will.  Cal'late  you  won't 
have  a  chance.  Well,  Ab,  I  guess  we've  proved  our 
client's  case.  Next  time  you  go  out  cat  shootin'  you 
better  be  sure  you're  gunnin'  for  the  right  one.  Come 
on,  Mary-'Gusta." 

Con  Bacheldor  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Pop,"  he  shouted,  "be  you  goin'  to  let  'em  go  this 
way?  And  that  cat  stealin'  our  chickens  right  along. 
Ain't  you  goin'  to  tell  'em  you'll  kill  the  critter  next 
time  he  comes  on  our  land?" 

Abner  was  silent.  He  seemed  oddly  anxious  to  see 
the  last  of  his  visitors.  It  was  the  Captain  who  spoke. 

"No,  Con,"  he  said,  crisply,  "he  ain't  goin'  to  tell 
me  that.  And  you  listen  while  I  tell  you  somethin'.  If 
that  cat  of  ours  gets  hurt  or  don't  show  up  some  time 
I'll  know  who's  responsible.  And  then — well,  then 
maybe  /'//  go  gunnin'.  Good  night,  all  hands." 

All  the  way  back  across  the  fields  and  through  the 
grove  the  Captain  was  silent.  Mary-'Gusta  clinging  to 

98 


MARY-'GUSTA 

his  hand  was  silent  too,  dreading  what  she  knew  was 
sure  to  follow.  When  they  entered  the  kitchen  Shad- 
rach  turned  to  her: 

"Well,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  "I'm  glad  your  cat's 
turned  out  to  be  no  chicken  thief,  but — but  that  don't 
alter  what  you  did,  does  it?" 

"No,  sir,"  stammered  the  girl. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  it  don't.  I  told  you  what  would  hap 
pen  if  you  went  into  that  parlor,  and  you  went  just 
the  same.  I  cal'late  you  know  what  to  expect,  don't 
you?" 

"Ye-yes,  sir,"  in  a  low  tone.  "You  mean  I  can't  go  to 
the  Sunday  school  picnic." 

Shadrach  cleared  his  throat.  He  was  not  enjoying 
this  episode,  as  a  matter  of  fact  his  unhappiness  was 
almost  as  keen  as  the  child's.  But  as  a  boy  he  had 
been  reared  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  and  he  felt  that 
he  had  a  duty  to  perform. 

"I'm  afraid  that's  what  I  mean,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"Now  set  down  and  have  your  supper." 

Mary-'Gusta  tried  hard  to  be  brave,  but  the  disap 
pointment  was  too  great.  The  tears  streamed  down 
her  cheeks  and  she  ran  from  the  room.  Shadrach  strode 
after  her. 

"Here!"  he  called.  "Mary-'Gusta,  where  are  you 
goin'?  Come  back  and  have  your  supper." 

But  Mary-'Gusta  did  not  come  back.  She  was  al 
ready  on  the  stairs. 

"I — I  don't  want  any  supper,"  she  sobbed.  "Please, 
oh,  please  don't  make  me  eat  it." 

The  Captain  hesitated,  turned  back,  and  jerked  his 
own  chair  to  the  table. 

"Well,"  he  demanded  brusquely,  "the  supper's  here 
and  somebody's  got  to  eat  it,  I  cal'late.  Fetch  it  on, 

99 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Isaiah!    What  are  you  starin'  at  me  like  that  for,  you 
dumbhead?" 

Isaiah  brought  in  the  supper.  Then  he  demanded  to 
know  what  the  fuss  was  all  about.  Shadrach  told  him. 
Isaiah's  chief  interest  seemed  to  center  on  the  attempted 
shooting. 

"Why  the  son  of  a  swab !"  he  cried,  excitedly.  "Of  all 
the  cheek  I  ever  heard  of  in  my  life  that  Abner  Bachel- 
dor's  got  the  heft!  To  borrer  a  man's  own  gun — 
yes,  and  cartridges,  too — to  kill  that  man's  own  cat 
with!  Of  all  the  solid  brass!  He  never  told  me  'twas 
our  cat.  All  he  wanted  to  know  was  could  he  borrer 
your  gun  and  somethin'  to  load  it  with.  If  I'd 
known " 

His  employer  interrupted  him.  "What?"  he  roared. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Ab  Bacheldor  came  here  and 
borrowed  my  gun  to — to  do  what  he  done  with?" 

"Sartin  sure  he  did.  And  only  this  very  afternoon, 
too." 

"And  did  he  know  whose  cat  'twas?" 

"He  said  he  did.  Mary-'Gusta  was  here  'long  with 
me  when  he  come.  I  says :  'Know  whose  cat  'tis  ?'  and 
says  he,  'I  know  all  right!'  I  thought  he  acted  kind  of 
sheepish  and  funny.  I — Here !  where  you  goin'  ?" 

The  Captain  was  on  his  feet  and  his  cap  was  in  his 
hand. 

"Coin' !"  he  snarled.  "I'm  going  to  make  another  call 
on  Abner.  And,"  with  his  hand  on  the  latch,  "if  you 
hear  somebody  bein'  murdered  over  in  that  direction  you 
needn't  call  the  constable,  neither." 

"But— but,  hold  on,  Cap'n  Shad!  You  ain't  finished 
your  own  supper  yet  and  Zoeth's  waiting  up  to  the 
store  for  you  to  come  back  so's  he  can  come  down 
and  get  his." 

100 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  reply  was  emphatic  and,  in  its  way,  conclusive. 

"To  the  blue  brimstone  with  the  supper !"  roared  Shad- 
rach.  "It  can  wait  and  so  can  Zoeth.  If  he  can't  he  can 
do  the  next  best." 

He  was  absent  for  half  an  hour.  When  he  returned 
Mr.  Hamilton  was  in  the  dining-room.  Shadrach  en 
tered,  bearing  the  precious  shotgun.  He  stood  it  care 
fully  in  the  corner.  There  was  a  satisfied  look  in  his 
eye. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Shadrach!"  exclaimed  Zoeth, 
"what  have  you  been  thinkin'  of?  There  I  was  waitin' 
and  waitin'  and  hankerin'  and  hankerin'  and  no  you 
nor  no  supper.  I  had  to  lock  up  the  store  finally. 
'Twas  either  that  or  starve.  I  ain't  a  fault-finder,  gen 
erally  speakin',  but  I  have  to  eat,  same  as  other  folks." 

His  partner  paid  not  the  least  attention.  His  first 
remark  was  in  the  form  of  a  question  addressed  to 
Mr.  Chase. 

"Look  here,  Isaiah,"  he  demanded,  "did  I  understand 
you  to  say  that  Mary-'Gusta  was  with  you  when  that 
sculpin  come  to  borrow  my  gun?" 

"Yup.     She  was  here." 

"And  she  knew  that  he  was  goin'  to  shoot  a  cat  with 
it?" 

"Sartin,  she  heard  him  say  so." 

Shadrach  strode  to  the  mantel,  took  from  it  a  hand 
lamp,  lighted  the  lamp  and  with  it  in  his  hand  walked 
from  the  room  and  ascended  the  stairs.  Zoeth  called 
after  him,  but  he  did  not  answer. 

He  entered  Mary-'Gusta's  room.  The  child  was  in 
bed,  the  dolls  beside  her.  She  was  not  asleep,  however. 
The  tear  stains  on  her  cheeks  and  the  dampness  of 
the  pillow  showed  how  she  had  spent  the  time  since  leav 
ing  the  dining-room. 

101 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Shadrach  put  the  lamp  upon  the  washstand,  pulled  a 
chair  beside  the  bed  and  sat  down.  He  took  her  hand 
in  his. 

"Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  gently,  "you  knew  'twas  my 
gun  that  Ab  Bacheldor  was  tryin'  to  shoot  David  with  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  moved  her  head  up  and  down  on  the 
pillow. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said. 

"You  was  here  when  he  borrowed  it?" 

"Yes,  sir.  And  then  I  knew  it  was  yours  when  he 
had  it  there  in  the  field.  I  saw  the  silver  name  thing 
on  the  handle.  It  kind  of  shined  in  the  sun." 

"Um-hm.  Yes,  yes.  I  see.  You  knew  it,  of  course. 
But  you  didn't  tell  me.  Why  on  earth  didn't  you? 
Didn't  you  know  that  if  I'd  realized  that  swab  had 
borrered  my  gun  to  kill  my  cat  that  would  have  been 
enough?  If  the  critter  had  stole  a  million  chickens 
'twouldn't  have  made  any  difference  if  I'd  known  that. 
The  cheeky  lubber !  Well,  he  won't  shoot  at  anything  of 
ours  for  one  spell,  I'll  bet.  But  why  didn't  you  tell 
me?" 

Mary-'Gusta's  answer  was  promptly  given. 

"Why,  'cause,"  she  said,  "that  was  just  it.  I  knew 
if  you  knew  that  you  wouldn't  care  whether  David 
stole  the  chicken  or  not.  And  I  wanted  you  to  know 
he  didn't." 

"Um,  I  see.  But  if  you  had  told  me  you  wouldn't 
have  had  to  tell  about  the  parlor.  I'd  never  asked  a 
single  question." 

"Ye-yes,  sir;  but  I  wanted  you  to  know  David  doesn't 
steal  chickens." 

Shadrach  swallowed  hard.  "I  see,"  he  said.  "Yes, 
yes,  I  see.  So  just  to  clear  that  cat  you  was  willin' 
to  give  up  the  picnic  and  everything." 

102 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary-'Gusta  sobbed:  "I  —  I  did  want  to  go  so,"  she 
moaned. 

The  Captain  lifted  her  from  the  pillow  and  put  his 
arm  about  her. 

"You  are  goin',"  he  declared,  emphatically,  "you  just 
bet  you're  goin'." 

"Oh!  Oh,  am  I?  Am  I  really?  I—  I  know  I  hadn't 
ought  to.  I  was  a  bad  girl." 

"You!  You're  a  dummed  good  girl!  The  best  and 
squarest  —  yes,  and  the  spunkiest  little  girl  I  ever  saw. 
You're  a  brick." 

"I'm  awful  sorry  I  went  into  the  parlor,  Cap'n  Gould." 

"Blast  the  parlor!  I  don't  care  if  you  stay  in  there 
a  week  and  smash  everything  in  it.  And  —  and,  see  here, 
Mary-'Gusta,  don't  you  call  me  'Cap'n  Gould'  any  more. 
Call  me  'Uncle  Shad,'  will  you?" 

Just  before  bedtime  that  night  Mr.  Hamilton  broached 
a  subject  which  had  troubled  him  all  day. 

"Shadrach,"  he  said,  timidly.  "I  —  I  guess  I  ought 
to  tell  you  somethin'.  I  know  you  won't  want  to  talk 
about  it,  but  seems  's  if  I  must  tell  you.  I  had  a  letter 
this  morning  from  Judge  Baxter.  He  says  he  can't  wait 
much  longer  for  an  answer  from  us  about  Marcellus's 
girl.  He's  got  to  know  what  we've  decided  to  do  with 
her." 

Shadrach,  who  was  smoking,  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth. 

"Well,  give  him  the  answer  then,"  he  said,  shortly. 
"You  know  what  'tis,  well  as  I  do." 

Zoeth  looked  troubled. 

"I    know    you    don't    want    to    keep    her,"    he    said, 


Who  said  I  didn't?" 

103 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Who?    Why,  Shadrach  Gould!    You  said " 

"I  said  a  good  many  things  maybe ;  but  that's  nothin'. 
You  knew  what  I  meant  as  well  as  I  did." 

"Why,  Shadrach!  You — you  don't  mean  you  are 
willin'  to  keep  her — here,  with  us,  for  good?  You 
don't  mean  that?" 

The  Captain  snorted  impatiently.  "Don't  be  so  foolish, 
Zoeth,"  he  protested.  "You  knew  phguey  well  I  never 
meant  anything  else." 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  next  day  Captain  Shadrach  drove  to  Ostable 
and  spent  several  hours  in  consultation  with 
Judge  Baxter.  Adjusting  matters  by  correspon 
dence  is  a  slow  process  at  best,  and  the  Captain,  having 
surrendered  unconditionally,  was  not  the  man  to  delay. 

"I  can  settle  more  in  ten  minutes'  talk,"  he  told  his 
partner,  "than  the  three  of  us  could  in  a  month's  letter- 
writin',  especially  if  I  had  to  write  any  of  the  letters. 
I  never  was  any  hand  to  write  letters;  you  know  that, 
Zoeth.  And  when  I  do  write  one  the  feller  I  send  it  to 
is  liable  to  come  around  and  ask  me  to  read  it  'cause  he 
can't.  Like  as  not  I  can't  either,  if  it's  had  time  to  get 
cold,  and  there  we  are,  right  where  we  started.  No, 
I'll  go  and  see  the  Judge  and  when  I  fetch  port  tonight 
there'll  have  been  somethin'  done." 

This  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Before  the  Captain  left 
Ostable  for  the  homeward  drive  a  good  deal  had  been 
done.  Judge  Baxter,  in  his  capacity  as  administrator, 
had  already  been  looking  into  the  affairs  of  his  late 
client  and,  as  he  had  expected,  those  affairs  were  badly 
tangled.  When  the  outstanding  debts  were  paid  there 
would  be  little  left,  a  thousand  or  two,  perhaps,  but 
certainly  no  more. 

"So  there  you  are,  Shadrach,"  he  said.  "I'm  mighty 
glad  you  and  Zoeth  have  decided  to  keep  the  girl,  but 
I'm  afraid  she'll  come  to  you  with  very  little  property 
of  her  own.  If  she  is  to  have  the  good  education  and 
all  the  rest  that  Marcellus  wanted  her  to  have  I  guess 

105 


MARY-'GUSTA 

it'll  be  your  money  that  pays  for  it.  That's  the  honest 
truth,  and  I  think  you  ought  to  know  it." 

The  Captain  nodded.  'That's  all  right,"  he  said.  "I 
expected  just  about  that,  account  of  what  you  said  the 
day  of  the  funeral.  Me  and  Zoeth  are  about  as  fur 
from  bein'  rich  as  the  ship's  cat  is  from  bein'  skipper, 
but  we've  put  by  a  little  and  the  store  fetches  us  in  a 
decent  livin'.  We'll  take  the  young-one  and  do  our  best 
by  her.  Land  knows  what  that  best'll  be,"  he  added, 
with  a  dubious  shake  of  the  head.  "Speakin'  for  my 
self,  I  feel  that  I'm  about  as  competent  to  bring  up 
a  child  as  a  clam  is  to  fly." 

Baxter  laughed.  "Marcellus  seemed  confident  that 
you  and  Hamilton  were  perfectly  suited  to  the  job," 
he  said. 

"Um;  yes,  I  know;  Marcellus  had  confidence  in  a 
good  many  things,  the  stock  market  included.  How 
ever,  what  is  to  be  will  be  and  we  all  have  to  take 
chances,  as  the  feller  that  was  just  married  said  when 
he  tackled  his  wife's  first  mince  pie.  You  get  those 
guardian  papers,  whatever  they  are,  made  out,  and 
Zoeth  and  me'll  sign  'em.  As  for  the  competent  part — 
well,"  with  a  chuckle,  "that  child's  pretty  competent 
herself.  I  have  a  notion  that,  take  it  five  or  six  years 
from  now,  it'll  be  her  that'll  be  bringin'  us  up  in  the 
way  we  should  go.  I  feel  a  good  deal  as  if  I  was  signin' 
on  for  a  long  voyage  with  the  chances  that  I'd  finish 
mate  instead  of  skipper. 

"Say,  Judge,"  he  added,  just  before  leaving  for  home, 
"there's  one  thing  more  I'd  like  to  say.  'Most  every 
body  thinks  Marcellus  left  his  stepdaughter  a  con- 
sider'ble  sight  of  money,  don't  they?" 

"Why,  yes;  I  suppose  they  do." 

"All  right,  let  'em  think  so.  'Twill  give  'em  some- 
106 


MARY-'GUSTA 

thin'  to  talk  about.  They'll  be  guessin'  how  rich  the 
child  is  instead  of  markin'  off  in  the  almanac  the  days 
afore  Zoeth  and  me  head  for  the  poorhouse." 

"Humph!  I  see.  You  don't  care  to  have  it  known 
that  you  and  your  partner  are  adopting  and  supporting 
her  purely  from  motives  of  kindness  and  generosity." 

"Pooh !  pooh !  No  generosity  about  it.  Besides,  Mar- 
cellus  was  kind  and  generous  enough  to  us  in  the  old 
days.  Pity  if  we  couldn't  take  our  trick  at  the  wheel 
now." 

The  Judge  smiled.  "You're  a  good  deal  more  willing 
to  take  that  trick  than  you  were  when  I  saw  you  last, 
Captain  Shad,"  he  observed.  "You  seem  to  have  changed 
your  mind  completely." 

The  Captain  grinned.  "Well,  yes,  I  have,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "Maybe  'tain't  so  big  a  change  as  you  think ;  I 
have  a  habit  of  blowin'  up  a  squall  when  I'm  gettin' 
ready  to  calm  down.  But,  anyway,  that  young-one 
would  change  anybody's  mind.  She's  different  from 
any  girl  of  her  age  ever  I  saw.  She's  pretty  as  a  little 
picture  and  sweet  and  wholesome  as  a — as  a  summer 
sweet  apple.  She  don't  pester,  and  she  don't  tease,  and 
she  don't  lie — no,  sir,  not  even  when  I'd  consider  layin' 
the  course  a  p'int  or  two  from  the  truth  a  justifiable 
proceedin'.  She's  got  inside  my  vest,  somehow  or 
'nother,  and  I  did  think  I  was  consider'ble  of  a  hard 
shell.  She's  all  right,  Mary-'Gusta  is.  I'm  about  ready 
to  say  'Thank  you'  to  Marcellus." 

And  so  it  was  settled,  and  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop  was 
no  longer  a  visitor,  but  a  permanent  member  of  the  odd 
household  at  South  Harniss.  She  was  delighted  when 
she  heard  the  news,  although,  characteristically,  she  said 
very  little  beyond  confiding  to  her  two  "uncles"  that  she 
was  going  to  be  a  good  girl  and  not  take  David  into  the 

107 


MARY-'GUSTA 

parlor  again.  The  remainder  of  her  "things"  and  be 
longings  were  sent  over  by  the  Judge  and,  in  due  time, 
the  guardianship  papers  were  signed. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Zoeth,  laying  down  the  pen. 
"That  settles  it,  I  cal'late.  Now,  Mary-'Gusta,  you're 
our  little  girl,  mine  and  your  Uncle  Shad's,  for  good 
and  all." 

"Not  quite  so  long  as  that,  Zoeth,"  put  in  the  smiling 
Shadrach.  "We'll  hang  on  to  her  for  a  spell,  I  shouldn't 
wonder;  but  one  of  these  days,  a  hundred  years  from 
now  or  such  matter,  there's  liable  to  be  a  good-lookin' 
young  feller  sparkin'  'round  here  and  he'll  want  to  marry 
her  and  take  her  somewheres  else.  What'll  you  say 
when  it  conies  to  that,  Mary-'Gusta?" 

Mary-'Gusta  thought  it  over.  "If  'twas  a  hundred 
years  from  now,"  she  said,  "I  guess  he  wouldn't  want 
me." 

The  Captain  laughed  uproariously.  "Well,  maybe  we 
can  discount  that  hundred  some  for  cash,"  he  admitted. 
"Make  it  twelve  or  fifteen  years.  Then  suppose  some 
body — er — er "  with  a  wink  at  Zoeth — "suppose  Jim- 

mie  Bacheldor,  we'll  say,  comes  and  wants  us  to  put 
you  in  his  hands,  what'll  you  say  then?" 

The  answer  was  prompt  enough  this  time. 

"I'll  say  no,"  asserted  Mary-'Gusta,  with  decision. 
"Jimmie  Bacheldor  hates  to  wash  his  hands ;  he  told 
me  so." 

All  that  summer  she  played  about  the  house  or  at 
the  store  or  on  the  beach  and,  when  the  fall  term 
began,  the  partners  sent  her  to  school.  They  were 
happy  and  proud  men  when  Miss  Dobson,  the  primary 
teacher,  said  the  girl  was  too  far  advanced  for  the 
first  class  and  entered  her  in  the  second.  "Just  natural 
smartness,"  Captain  Shadrach  declared.  "Natural 

108 


MARY-'GUSTA 

smartness  and  nothin'  else.  She  ain't  had  a  mite  of 
advantages,  but  up  she  goes  just  the  same.  Why, 
Teacher  told  me  she  considered  her  a  reg'lar  parachute." 

"A  parachute's  somethin'  that  comes  down,  ain't  it," 
suggested  Zoeth,  remembering  the  balloon  ascension  he 
had  seen  at  the  county  fair. 

"Humph !  So  'tis.  Seems  as  if  'twasn't  parachute 
she  said.  'Twas — 'twas " 

"Parasol?"  suggested  Isaiah,  who  was  an  interested 
listener. 

"No,  no ;  nor  paralysis  neither.  Paragon,  that's  what 
'twas.  Teacher  said  that  child  was  a  paragon." 

"What's  a  paragon?"  asked  Mr.  Chase. 

"I  don't  know.     But  it's  what  she  is,  anyway." 

The  paragon  continued  to  progress  in  her  studies. 
Also  she  continued,  more  and  more,  to  take  an  interest 
in  the  housework  and  the  affairs  of  her  adopted  uncles 
and  Isaiah  Chase.  Little  by  little  changes  came  in  the 
life  of  the  family.  On  one  memorable  Sunday  Cap 
tain  Shadrach  attended  church.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  a  good  many  years  and  whether  the  congregation  or 
Zoeth  or  the  Captain  himself  was  the  more  astonished 
at  the  latter's  being  there  is  a  question.  Mary-'Gusta 
was  not  greatly  astonished.  It  was  the  result  of  careful 
planning  on  her  part,  planning  which  had  as  its  object 
the  relieving  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  mind.  Zoeth  never 
missed  a  Sunday  service  or  a  Friday  night  prayer  meet 
ing.  And,  being  sincerely  religious,  he  was  greatly 
troubled  because  his  friend  and  partner  took  little  in 
terest  in  such  things. 

Shadrach's  aversion  to  churches  dated  back  to  a  ser 
mon  preached  by  a  former  minister.  The  subject  of 
that  sermon  was  Jonah  and  the  whale.  The  Captain, 
having  been  on  several  whaling  voyages  in  his  younger 

109 


MARY-'GUSTA 

days,  had  his  own  opinion  'concerning  the  prophet's 
famous  adventure. 

If  the  minister  had  been  a  younger  and  more  tactful 
man  the  argument  which  followed  might  have  ended 
pleasantly  and  the  break  have  been  avoided.  But  the 
clergyman  was  elderly,  as  set  in  his  ways  as  the  Captain 
was  in  his,  and  the  disagreement  was  absolute  and 
final. 

"The  feller  is  a  regular  wooden-head,"  declared  Shad- 
rach,  hotly.  "I  was  willin'  to  be  reasonable ;  I  was  willin' 
to  give  in  that  this  Jonah  man  might  have  been  out 
of  his  head  and,  after  he  was  hove  overboard  and  cast 
ashore,  thought  he'd  been  swallowed  by  a  whale  or 
somethin'  or  'nother.  I  picked  up  a  sailor  once  who'd 
drifted  around  in  a  boat  for  a  week  and  he  couldn't  re 
member  nothin'  of  what  happened  after  the  first  day  or 
so.  If  you'd  told  him  he'd  been  swallowed  by  a  mackerel 
he  wouldn't  have  said  no.  But  I've  helped  kill  a  good 
many  whales — yes,  and  I've  helped  cut  'em  up,  too — and 
I  know  what  they  look  like  inside.  No  man,  whether 
his  name  was  Jonah  or  Jehoshaphat,  could  have  lived 
three  days  in  a  whale's  stomach.  How'd  he  breathe 
in  there,  eh?  Cal'late  the  whale  had  ventilators  and  a 
skylight  in  his  main  deck?  How'd  the  whale  live  all 
that  time  with  a  man  hoppin'  'round  inside  him?  Think 
I'd  live  if  I — if  I  swallowed  a  live  mouse  or  somethin'? 
No,  sir-ee!  Either  that  mouse  would  die  or  I  would,  I 
bet  you!  I've  seen  a  whole  parcel  of  things  took  out 
of  a  whale's  insides  and  some  of  the  things  had  been 
alive  once,  too;  but  they  wasn't  alive  then;  they  was 
in  chunks  and  part  digested.  Jonah  wasn't  digested, 
was  he?  And  the  whale  wasn't  dead  of  dyspepsy  neither. 
That's  what  I  told  that  minister.  'You  try  it  yourself,' 
I  says  to  him.  There's  whales  enough  back  of  the  Crab 

no 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Ledge,  twenty  mile  off  Orham,'  said  I.  'You're  liable 
to  run  in  sight  of  'em  most  any  fair  day  in  summer. 
You  go  off  there  and  jump  overboard  some  time  and 
see  what  happens.  First  place,  no  whale  would  swallow 
you ;  next  place,  if  it  did  'twould  chew  you  or  sift  you  fine 
first;  and,  third  place,  if  you  was  whole  and  alive  that 
whale  would  be  dead  inside  of  ten  minutes.  You  try  it 
and  see.'  Good  fair  offer,  wasn't  it?  But  did  he  take  it 
up?  Not  much.  Said  I  was  a  scoffer  and  an  infidel 
and  didn't  know  anything  about  Scripture!  'I  know 
about  whales,  anyhow,'  I  told  him.  And  he  slammed  off 
and  wouldn't  speak  to  me  again.  Don't  talk  to  me!  I'll 
never  go  inside  that  meetin'-house  again." 

And  he  never  had  until  Mary-'Gusta  coaxed  him  into 
it.  She  was  a  regular  attendant  at  Sunday  school,  but 
on  Sunday  mornings  in  pleasant  weather  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  take  a  walk  with  Shadrach.  These  walks 
they  both  enjoyed  hugely,  but  one  bright  morning  she 
announced  that  she  was  not  going  for  a  walk,  but  was 
going  to  church  with  Uncle  Zoeth.  Shadrach  was  dis 
appointed  and  astonished. 

"Land  sakes !  What's  this  mean  ?"  he  demanded. 
"Thought  you  liked  to  walk  with  me." 

"I  do.  I  like  it  very  much.  But  I  don't  think  it's  fair 
for  me  to  do  it  every  Sunday.  Uncle  Zoeth  always  goes 
to  church  and  he  feels  real  bad  'cause  you  don't  go.  He 
told  me  so.  He  says  the  church  folks  think  you  won't 
go  to  Heaven  when  you  die  and  that  makes  him  feel 
dreadful.  He's  goin'  to  Heaven,  you  know." 

"Oh,  he  is,  eh?" 

"Of  course.  He  couldn't  help  it,  he's  so  good.  Don't 
you  think  he'll  go  to  Heaven,  Uncle  Shad?" 

"Who?  Zoeth?  Sartin  I  do.  If  he  don't,  nobody 
will." 

in 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Wouldn't  it  make  you  feel  bad  if  you  was  afraid  he 
wouldn't  go  there?" 

"Humph!    Maybe  so,  but  I  ain't  afraid." 

"I  know,  but  he  is  afraid  you  won't.  He  thinks  an 
awful  lot  of  you;  as  much  as  you  do  of  him,  you 
know.  Uncle  Shad,  I'm  goin'  to  meetin'  with  Uncle 
Zoeth  this  mornin',  and  I  want  you  to  go  with  us;  will 
you?" 

The  Captain  pulled  his  beard. 

"Look  here,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said.  "What's  all  this 
about,  anyway?  You  don't  cal'late  I'd  take  you  walkin' 
Sundays  if  I  thought  'twas  wicked,  do  you?" 

"No,  sir;  but  Uncle  Zoeth  thinks  not  goin'  to  church 
is  wicked.  If  you  and  I  went  to  church  with  him  'twould 
please  him  ever  so  much." 

"Maybe  so,  but  'twould  please  you  and  me  if  he  went 
walkin'  with  us.  I've  asked  him  times  enough.  Why 
can't  he  do  what  I  want  as  well  as  my  doin'  what  he 
wants  ?" 

"  'Cause  he  thinks  it's  wrong.  You  don't  think  goin' 
to  church  is  wrong,  do  you,  Uncle  Shad?" 

Shadrach  shook  his  head.  "By  fire!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You're  a  regular  young  lawyer,  you  are,  Mary-'Gusta. 
Judge  Baxter  hasn't  got  you  beat  when  it  comes  to 
makin'  out  a  case.  Look  here,  now;  be  honest;  hadn't 
you  rather  go  to  walk  with  me  than  go  to  that  meetin'- 
house?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  frankly;  "I'd  rather." 

"Oh,  you  had,  eh?  But  all  the  same  you  want  us  to 
give  up  our  walk  and  go  to  church  every  Sunday  just 
to  please  Zoeth.  Is  that  it?" 

Mary-'Gusta  took  his  hand.  "No,  sir,"  she  said  shyly, 
"but  I  thought  perhaps  we  could  divide  up.  You  and 
I  could  go  with  him  one  Sunday  and  to  walk  the  next 

112 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Sunday.  That  would  be  fair.  I'm  his  little  girl  same 
as  I  am  yours,  Uncle  Shad,  ain't  I?" 

Shadrach  was  stumped,  and  he  went  to  church  that 
Sunday  morning.  The  sermon  had  nothing  to  do  with 
Jonah  or  the  whale,  so  his  feelings  were  not  ruffled. 
Zoeth  was  mightily  pleased  and  Mary-'Gusta  was  happy 
because  he  was.  The  plan  of  alternate  Sundays  was 
adopted.  It  was  but  one  instance  of  the  "managing" 
quality  which  the  girl  possessed.  Isaiah  declared  that 
she  wound  all  hands  around  her  little  finger,  but  even 
he  seemed  to  enjoy  the  winding. 

As  she  grew  older  Mary-'Gusta  learned  more  and 
more  concerning  her  uncles,  their  habits,  their  contrast 
ing  temperaments  and  their  past  history.  She  learned 
a  little  of  Hall  and  Company,  the  prosperous  firm  of  which 
they  had  been  partners,  with  Marcellus  Hall,  her  step 
father,  as  the  head.  Isaiah  told  her  a  little  concerning 
the  firm:  "No  bigger  on  Cape  Cod,"  he  declared.  She 
asked  why  it  had  not  continued  in  business.  Mr.  Chase 
brusquely  answered  that  it  hadn't,  that's  all,  and  would 
not  give  any  particulars.  She  questioned  the  steward 
concerning  Shadrach  and  Zoeth.  The  former  had  never 
married;  that  was  funny;  why  hadn't  he?  Isaiah  said 
he  did  not  know.  Hadn't  Uncle  Zoeth  ever  married, 
either?  Yes,  Zoeth  had  married. 

"Who  did "  began  Mary-'Gusta,  but  Isaiah  cut 

short  the  catechizing. 

"You  mustn't  ask  such  questions,"  he  declared. 

"Why  mustn't  I?" 

"  'Cause  you  mustn't.  Your  uncles  wouldn't  like  it  a 
mite  if  they  knew  you  was  pryin'  into  their  affairs. 
You  mustn't  ever  say  a  word  about  your  Uncle  Zoeth's 
gettin'  married." 

"Wouldn't  he  like  me  any  more  if  I  did?" 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"No,  you  bet  he  wouldn't;  he'd — I  don't  know's  he 
wouldn't  come  to  hate  you.  And  you  mustn't  say  it  to 
Cap'n  Shad  neither." 

The  idea  of  being  hated  by  Uncle  Zoeth  was  a  dread 
ful  one  and  Mary-'Gusta  avoided  the  tabooed  subject. 
But  she  thought  about  it  a  good  deal.  She  noticed  that 
in  neither  of  the  two  lots  in  the  cemetery,  one  where 
the  Goulds  were  buried  and  the  other  the  Hamiltons,  was 
a  stone  erected  to  the  memory  of  the  "beloved  wife  of 
Zoeth  Hamilton,"  although  other  beloved  wives  of  the 
former  generations  were  commemorated.  This  seemed 
odd.  As  her  education  progressed  she  read  more  and 
more  and  from  her  reading  she  built  up  several  imagina 
tive  romances  with  Zoeth  as  the  hero,  and  as  the  hero 
ines  beautiful  creatures  who  had  died  young,  in  ship 
wreck,  probably,  and  whose  names  were  not  to  be  men 
tioned  because.  .  .  .  She  could  not  find  a  satisfactory 
solution  of  the  because.  Shipwreck  or  burial  at  sea 
she  deduced  from  the  fact  of  there  being  no  grave 
in  the  cemetery.  Mothers  and  fathers  of  several 
of  her  schoolmates  had  been  buried  at  sea.  Perhaps 
the  late  Mrs.  Hamilton  had  been  so  buried.  But  Zoeth 
had  never  been  a  seafaring  man. 

One  Saturday  afternoon — she  was  about  ten  years 
old  at  the  time — she  was  in  the  garret.  The  garret  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  old  surrey  at  Ostable,  and  thither 
she  retired  when  she  wished  to  be  alone  to  read,  or  play, 
or  study.  This  afternoon  she  was  rummaging  through 
the  old  trunks  and  sea  chests  in  search  of  a  costume  for 
Rose.  It  was  to  be  a  masculine  costume,  of  course,  for 
there  was  no  feminine  apparel  in  that  garret,  but  in 
the  games  which  the  girl  played  when  alone  with  her 
dolls,  Rose,  the  largest  of  the  family,  was  frequently 
obliged  to  change  her  sex  with  her  raiment. 

114 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary-'Gusta  had  ransacked  these  trunks  and  chests 
pretty  thoroughly  on  previous  occasions,  but  this  time 
she  made  a  discovery.  In  an  old  trunk  which  had  obvi 
ously  belonged  to  Captain  Shadrach  she  found  a  sort 
of  pocket  on  the  under  side  of  the  lid,  a  pocket  closing 
with  a  flap  and  a  catch.  In  this  pocket  were  some 
papers,  old  receipts  and  the  like,  and  a  photograph.  The 
photograph  interested  her  exceedingly.  It  was  yellow 
and  faded  but  still  perfectly  distinct. 

There  was  a  large  building  standing  on  posts  fixed  in 
the  sand,  and  beyond  it  were  wharves  and  a  glimpse 
of  schooners  and  the  sea.  Barrels,  a  good  many  barrels, 
were  piled  upon  the  wharves  and  at  the  end  of  the 
building.  Over  the  door  was  the  sign,  "Hall  and  Com 
pany,  Wholesale  Fish  Dealers." 

This  sign  of  itself  was  interesting  enough.  Evidently 
here  was  the  place  where  her  stepfather  and  Captain 
Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton  had  done  business  years  be 
fore.  But  more  interesting  still  was  the  group  of  men 
standing  on  the  platform  under  the  sign.  There  were 
four  of  these  men,  dressed  in  clothes  and  hats  which 
— especially  the  hats — looked  queer  and  old-fashioned 
now.  Two  of  the  men  Mary-'Gusta  recognized,  or 
thought  she  did.  They  were  Captain  Shadrach  and  Mr. 
Hamilton.  Much  younger  they  looked,  of  course;  their 
hair  was  not  gray  and  Zoeth  wore  a  beard,  while  Shad 
rach  had  only  a  mustache.  But,  in  spite  of  these  things 
and  the  odd  clothes  they  wore,  she  was  sure  she  recog 
nized  them.  And,  having  recognized  them,  she  also 
recognized  the  man  in  the  center  of  the  group  as  her 
stepfather,  Captain  Marcellus  Hall.  The  fourth  man, 
evidently  younger  than  the  others,  a  handsome, 
square-shouldered  chap  in  his  shirtsleeves,  she  did  not 
know. 


MARY-'GUSTA 

She  turned  the  photograph  over.  On  its  back  was 
written : 

Firm  of  Hall  and  Company.    Taken  August  I9th,  1877. 
Marcellus  Hall 
Zoeth  J.  Hamilton 
Edgar  S.  Farmer 
Shadrach  B.  Gould. 

The  names  were  in  differing  handwritings.  Evidently 
each  man  had  signed  the  photograph. 

Mary-'Gusta  scrutinized  the  photograph  again.  Then, 
with  it  in  her  hand,  she  descended  to  the  kitchen.  Isaiah 
was  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the  stove  reading  a  newspaper. 

"Mr.  Chase,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  "who  was  Edgar  S. 
Farmer  ?" 

If  that  kitchen  chair  had  been  the  never-to-be-for 
gotten  piece  of  furniture  with  the  music  box  beneath 
it  and  that  box  had  started  to  play,  Isaiah  could  not 
have  risen  more  promptly.  He  literally  jumped  to  his 
feet  and  the  paper  flew  from  his  hands.  He  whirled 
upon  the  questioner. 

"What?"  he  demanded.    "What's  that  you  said?" 

He  was  pale,  actually  pale.  Mary-'Gusta  was  fright 
ened. 

"Why — why,  I  just  asked "  she  faltered,  "I  just 

asked  who — who What  can  be  the  matter,  Mr. 

Chase?" 

Isaiah  waved  his  hand.  "What  did  you  ask?"  he 
demanded. 

"I  asked — I  asked  who  Edgar  S.  Farmer  was,  that's 
all.  I  didn't  mean — I  didn't  know " 

"Be  still !  Be  still,  for  mercy  sakes !  What  do  you 
know  about  Ed  Farmer?  Who  told  you  about  him?" 

The  girl  was  more  frightened  than  ever.  Isaiah's 
116 


MARY-'GUSTA 

next  move  did  not  tend  to  reassure  her.  He  strode 
to  the  door,  looked  up  the  lane,  and  closed  and  locked 
the  door  before  she  could  find  words  to  answer. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said,  coming  close  to  her  and  look 
ing  her  straight  in  the  face,  "who  told  you  about  Ed 
Farmer  ?" 

"Nobody  told  me.    Honest,  they  didn't." 

"Somebody  must  have  told  you;  else  how  did  you 
know?" 

Mary-'Gusta  hesitatingly  held  up  the  photograph. 
"It's  written  on  this,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Chase  snatched  it  from  her  hand.  He  looked  at 
the  picture  and  then  at  her. 

"It's  written  on  the  back,"  went  on  the  girl. 

Isaiah  turned  the  photograph  over. 

"Humph!"  he  said  suspiciously.  "I  see.  Who  gave 
this  to  you?" 

"Nobody  gave  it  to  me.  I  found  it  in  an  old  trunk  up 
in  the  attic." 

"Humph !  You  did,  eh  ?  Well,  I  swan  to  man !  Have 
you  showed  it  to  anybody  else  but  me?" 

"No,  sir.  Honest,  I  haven't.  I  just  found  it  this  min 
ute." 

"Well,  I  swan,  that's  lucky.  'Twas  in  a  trunk,  eh? 
Whose  trunk?" 

"One  of  Uncle  Shad's,  I  guess." 

"Humph!  I  presume  likely.  Well,  what  made  you 
ask  about — about  the  one  you  did  ask  about?" 

"I  knew  who  the  others  were.  I  knew  my  father 
and  Uncle  Zoeth  and  Uncle  Shad.  But  I  didn't  know 
who  the  Farmer  one  was.  It  says  'Firm  of  Hall  and 
Company,'  and  all  those  names  are  signed.  So  I  thought 
maybe  Mr.  Farmer  was " 

"Never  you  mind  who  he  was.  He  was  a  darned 
117 


MARY-'GUSTA 

blackguard  and  his  name  ain't  mentioned  in  this  house. 
That's  all  I  can  tell  you  and  you  mustn't  ask  any  more 
questions.  Why,  if  your  Uncle  Zoeth — yes,  or  your 
Uncle  Shad  either — was  to  hear  you  askin'  about  him — 
they'd — I  don't  know  what  they'd  do.  I'm  goin'  to  tear 
this  thing  up." 

He  would  have  torn  the  photograph  across,  but  the 
girl  seized  his  hands. 

"Oh,  no,  you  mustn't,"  she  cried.  "Please  don't.  It 
isn't  mine.  It  belongs  to  Uncle  Shad.  You  mustn't 
tear  it — give  it  to  me." 

Isaiah  hesitated.  "Give  it  to  you?"  he  repeated. 
"What'll  you  do  with  it?" 

"I'll  put  it  right  back  where  I  found  it.  Truly,  I 
will.  I  will,  honest,  Mr.  Chase." 

Isaiah  reflected.  Then,  and  with  considerable  reluct 
ance,  he  handed  her  the  photograph. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "only  be  sure  you  do  it.  And 
look  here,  Mary-'Gusta,  don't  you  ever  touch  it  again 
and  don't  you  ever  tell  either  of  your  uncles  or  any 
body  else  that  you  found  it.  You  hear?" 

Mary-'Gusta  said  that  she  heard.  She  ran  to  the  gar 
ret  and  replaced  the  photograph  in  the  pocket  of  the 
trunk.  She  did  not  mention  it  again  nor  did  Isaiah, 
but  thereafter  when  her  active  imagination  constructed 
a  life  romance  with  Mr.  Zoeth  Hamilton  as  its  hero, 
that  romance  contained  a  villain  also,  and  the  villain's 
name  was  Edgar  S.  Farmer.  And  the  firm  of  Hall  and 
Company,  her  father's  firm,  had  a  fourth  and  most  mys 
terious  partner  who  was  a  blackguard. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  summers  and  winters  came  and  went  and 
Mary-'Gusta's  birthdays  came  and  went  with 
them.  She  grew  taller  and  more  mature. 
Her  place  as  assistant  housekeeper  was  recognized 
now  and  even  Isaiah  consulted  her  on  matters 
of  household  management.  As  for  her  uncles, 
she  managed  them  whether  consulted  or  not.  They 
took  the  place  of  the  discarded  dolls;  she  was  too 
old  for  dolls  now,  although  David  was  still  mothered 
and  petted  as  much  as  ever.  But  when  Uncle  Zoeth 
had  a  cold  it  was  she  who  insisted  upon  his  wrapping 
up  and  saw  that  the  wraps  were  ready,  and  if  Uncle 
Shad  was  caught  wearing  socks  with  holes  in  them  he 
was  scolded  and  supplied  with  fresh  ones.  She  se 
lected  the  clothes  they  should  wear  and  insisted  that 
they  black  their  boots  on  Sunday.  She  helped  them  in 
the  store  and  it  became  occasionally  possible  for  them 
to  leave  that  place  of  business  at  the  same  time  with 
out  engaging  the  services  of  Annabel.  At  first  the  part 
ners,  Captain  Shadrach  especially,  protested  against  the 
supervision  and  the  innovations,  but  Mary-'Gusta  tact 
fully  and  diplomatically  carried  each  point,  and,  after 
a  time,  the  Captain  ceased  to  protest  and  accepted  the 
inevitable  almost  with  meekness. 

"No  use,  Zoeth,"  he  said  on  one  occasion ;  "I've  talked 
and  talked  but  I'm  wearin'  the  necktie  just  the  same.  I 
told  her  'twas  too  good  to  wear  weekdays  and  it  ought 
to  be  saved  for  Sunday,  but  it  ain't  Sunday  and  I've  got 
it  on.  She  said  'twas  becomin'  and  the  one  I've  been 

119 


MARY-'GUSTA 

wearin'  wasn't  and  that  she  crocheted  it  for  me  and  I 
don't  know  what  all.  So  here  I  am.  Got  so  I  ain't 
even  boss  of  my  own  neck." 

"Well,  'tis  becomin',"  observed  Zoeth.  "And  she  did 
crochet  it  for  you.  I  noticed  you  didn't  stop  her  tyin' 
it  on  you  even  while  you  was  vowin'  you  wouldn't 
wear  it." 

Shadrach  sighed.  "To  think,"  he  groaned,  "that  I, 
Cap'n  Shad  Gould,  a  man  that's  handled  as  many  fo'mast 
hands  as  I  have,  should  come  to  be  led  around  by  the 
nose  by  a  slip  of  a  girl !  By  fire,  I — I  can't  hardly  be 
lieve  it.  It's  disgraceful." 

Zoeth  smiled.  "Oh,  be  still,  Shadrach,"  he  said.  "You 
bear  up  under  the  disgrace  as  well  as  anybody  ever  I 
saw.  You  know  perfectly  well  you  was  tickled  to  death 
to  have  her  tie  that  necktie  on  you.  You  was  grinnin' 
like  a  Chessy  cat  all  the  time." 

"I  wasn't,  neither.  I  was  chokin',  not  grinnin'.  You 
don't  know  a  grin  from  a  choke." 

Zoeth  changed  the  subject.  "It's  a  mighty  pretty 
necktie,"  he  declared.  "There  ain't  anybody  in  this 
town,  unless  it's  Philander  Bearse's  wife,  that  can  crochet 
any  better'n  that  girl  of  ours." 

Shadrach  snorted.  "What  are  you  talkin'  about?" 
he  demanded.  "Etta  Bearse  never  saw  the  day  she 
could  crochet  like  that.  No,  nor  do  anything  else  so 
well,  either.  Look  at  the  way  our  candy  trade  has 
picked  up  since  Mary-'Gusta  fixed  up  the  showcase. 
You  cal'lated  'twas  all  right  the  way  'twas  afore  and 
thought  'twas  foolish  to  change,  but  she  changed  it  and 
— well,  we've  sold  a  third  again  as  much  candy." 

Zoeth's  smile  broadened.  "Seems  as  if  I  remember 
your  sayin'  a  few  things  about  that  showcase,"  he  re 
marked.  "You  gave  me  fits  for  lettin'  her  fuss  with  it. 

120 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Annabel  was  in  t'other  day  and  she  said  folks  thought 
'twas  queer  enough  our  lettin'  a  thirteen-year-old  child 
run  our  store  for  us." 

"She  did,  eh?  She's  jealous,  that's  what  ails  her. 
And  to  think  of  her  sayin'  it.  That  Annabel's  all  brass, 
like  a  ship's  spyglass.  By  the  jumpin'  Judas !  I'm  proud 
of  that  showcase  and  I'm  proud  of  Mary-'Gusta.  She 
don't  make  many  mistakes :  /  can't  remember  of  her 
makin'  any." 

"Neither  can  I,  not  even  in  neckties.  There,  there, 
Shadrach!  I  know  you.  You  talk  about  disgrace  and 
such,  but  you're  as  crazy  about  Mary-'Gusta  as — as " 

"As  you  are,  eh?  Well,  maybe  I  am,  Zoeth.  When 
she  was  first  willed  to  us,  as  you  might  say,  I  used  to 
wonder  how  we'd  ever  get  along  with  her ;  now  I  wonder 
how  we  got  along  without  her.  If  she  should  be — er — 
took  away  from  us,  I  don't  know " 

"Sshh,  shh,  Shadrach !  Don't  talk  about  anything  like 
that." 

Mary-'Gusta  was  making  good  progress  at  school.  At 
fourteen  she  graduated  from  the  grammar  school  and 
in  the  fall  was  to  enter  the  high  school.  She  was  popu 
lar  among  her  mates,  although  she  never  sought  popu 
larity. 

At  picnics  and  church  sociables  she  had  always  a  small 
circle  about  her  and  the  South  Harniss  boys  were  promi 
nent  in  that  circle.  But  Mary-'Gusta,  although  she  liked 
boys  and  girls  well  enough,  never  showed  a  liking  for 
one  more  than  the  other  and  she  was  too  busy  at  the 
house  and  in  the  store  to  have  her  young  friends  hang 
ing  about.  They  bothered  her,  she  said.  As  for  having 
a  particular  friend  of  the  other  sex,  which  some  of  the 
girls  in  her  class  no  older  than  she  seemed  to  think  a 
necessary  proof  of  being  in  their  teens,  she  laughed  at 

121 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  idea.  She  had  her  adopted  uncles  and  Isaiah  to 
take  care  of  and  boy  beaux  were  silly.  Talking  about 
them  as  these  girls  did  was  sillier  still. 

That  summer — the  summer  preceding  Mary-'Gusta's 
fifteenth  birthday — was  the  liveliest  South  Harniss  had 
known.  The  village  was  beginning  to  feel  the  first  symp 
toms  of  its  later  boom  as  a  summer  resort.  A  number 
of  cottages  had  been  built  for  people  from  Boston  and 
New  York  and  Chicago,  and  there  was  talk  of  a  new 
hotel.  Also  there  was  talk  of  several  new  stores,  but 
Hamilton  and  Company  were  inclined  to  believe  this 
merely  talk  and  did  not  worry  about  it.  Their  trade  was 
unusually  brisk  and  the  demand  for  Mary-'Gusta's  ser 
vices  as  salesgirl  interfered  considerably  with  her  duties 
as  assistant  housekeeper. 

One  fine,  clear  July  morning  she  came  up  to  the  store 
early  in  order  that  the  partners  might  go  down  to  the 
house  for  breakfast.  They  had  gone  and  she  had  just 
finished  placing  on  the  counters  and  in  other  likely  spots 
about  the  store  sheets  of  sticky  fly  paper.  Flies  are  a 
nuisance  in  South  Harniss  in  midsummer  and  Captain 
Shad  detested  them.  Just  as  the  last  sheet  was  laid  in 
place,  a  young  fellow  and  a  girl  came  in.  Mary-'Gusta 
recognized  them  both.  The  girl  was  the  seventeen-year- 
old  daughter  of  a  wealthy  summer  resident,  a  Mr.  Keith 
from  Chicago.  The  Keiths  had  a  fine  cottage  on 
the  bluff  at  the  other  end  of  the  village.  The  young 
chap  with  her  was,  so  gossip  reported,  a  college  friend 
of  her  brother.  His  surname  was  prosaic  enough,  being 
Smith,  but  his  first  name  was  Crawford  and  his  home 
was  somewhere  in  the  Far  West.  He  was  big  and  good- 
looking,  and  the  Boston  papers  mentioned  him  as  one 
of  the  most  promising  backs  on  the  Harvard  Freshman 
eleven.  Next  year,  so  the  sporting  writers  opined,  he 

122 


MARY-'GUSTA 

would  almost  certainly  make  the  Varsity  team.  Most 
of  Mary-'Gusta's  feminine  friends  and  acquaintances 
rated  him  "perfectly  splendid"  and  regarded  Edna  Keith 
with  envious  eyes. 

This  morning  both  he  and  the  Keith  girl  were  ar 
rayed  in  the  gayest  of  summer  regalia.  Young  Smith's 
white  flannel  trousers  were  carefully  creased,  his  blue 
serge  coat  was  without  a  wrinkle,  his  tie  and  socks 
were  a  perfect  match,  and  his  cap  was  of  a  style  which 
the  youth  of  South  Harniss  might  be  wearing  the  fol 
lowing  summer,  but  not  this  one.  Take  him  "by  and 
large,"  as  Captain  Shadrach  would  have  said,  Crawford 
Smith  was  an  immaculate  and  beautiful  exhibit;  of 
which  fact  he,  being  eighteen  years  of  age,  was  doubt 
less  quite  aware. 

He  and  the  Keith  girl  were,  so  Mary-'Gusta  learned, 
a  committee  of  two  selected  to  purchase  certain  sup 
plies  for  a  beach  picnic,  a  combination  clambake  and 
marshmallow  toast,  which  was  to  take  place  over  at 
Setuckit  Point  that  day.  Sam  Keith,  Edna's  brother, 
and  the  other  members  of  the  party  had  gone  on  to 
Jabez  Hedges'  residence,  where  Jabez  had  promised  to 
meet  them  with  the  clams  and  other  things  for  the  bake. 
Edna  and  her  escort,  having  made  their  purchases  at 
Hamilton  and  Company's,  were  to  join  them  at  the 
"clam-man's."  Then  the  whole  party  was  to  go  down 
to  the  wharf  and  the  sailboat. 

Miss  Edna,  who  was  a  talkative  damsel,  informed 
Mary-'Gusta  of  these  facts  at  once.  Also  she  an 
nounced  that  they  must  hurry  like  everything. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "we  told  Sam  and  the  rest  we'd 
be  at  the  clam-man's  in  ten  minutes,  and,  if  we're  not 
there,  Sam  will  be  awfully  cross.  He  hates  to  wait 
for  people.  And  we've  been  too  long  already.  It's  all 

123 


MARY-'GUSTA 

your  fault,  Crawford ;  you  would  stop  to  hear  that  fruit 
man  talk.  I  told  you  you  mustn't." 

The  "fruit  man"  was  Mr.  Gaius  Small,  and,  although 
he  stammered,  he  loved  the  sound  of  his  own  voice. 
The  demand  for  a  dozen  oranges  furnished  Gaius  with 
subject  sufficient  for  a  lengthy  monologue — "forty 
drawls  and  ten  stutters  to  every  orange,"  quoting  Cap 
tain  Shad  again. 

"I  told  you  you  mustn't  get  him  started,"  went  on 
Miss  Keith,  gushingly.  "He'll  talk  forever  if  he  has 
a  chance.  But  you  would  do  it.  Asking  him  if  he  kept 
pomegranates  and  bread-fruit!  The  idea!  I'm  sure 
he  doesn't  know  what  a  pomegranate  is.  You  were  so 
solemn  and  he  was  so  ridiculous !  I  thought  I  should 
die.  You  really  are  the  drollest  person,  Crawford  Smith ! 
I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  with  you." 

It  was  evident  that  her  opinion  of  young  Smith  was 
not  different  from  that  of  other  young  ladies  of  her  age. 
Also  that  Crawford  himself  was  not  entirely  uncon 
scious  of  that  opinion.  At  eighteen,  to  be  set  upon  a 
pedestal  and  worshiped,  to  have  one's  feeblest  joke 
hailed  as  a  masterpiece  of  wit,  is  dangerous  for  the  idol ; 
the  effort  of  sustaining  the  elevated  position  entails 
the  risk  of  a  fall.  Crawford  was  but  eighteen  and  a 
good  fellow,  but  he  had  been  worshiped  a  good  deal. 
He  was  quite  as  sensible  as  other  young  chaps  of  his 
age,  which  statement  means  exactly  that  and  no  more. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  a  complacent  grin,  "we  learned 
how  to  pronounce  'pomegranate'  at  any  rate.  You  begin 
with  a  pup-pup-pup,  as  if  you  were  calling  a  dog,  and  you 
finish  with  a  grunt  like  a  pig.  I  wish  I  had  asked  him 
for  a  persimmon;  then  he'd  have  made  a  noise  like  a 
cat." 

Miss  Keith,  when  she  recovered  from  her  spasm  of 
124 


MARY-'GUSTA 

merriment,  declared  her  companion  "perfectly  killing." 

"But  we  must  hurry,"  she  said.  "We  really  must. 
Crawford,  you  buy  the  things.  I  should  think  of  that 
fruit  man  and  laugh  all  the  time,  I  know  I  should." 

She  remained  by  the  door  and  the  young  gentleman 
strolled  to  the  counter.  He  cast  an  amused  glance 
about  the  store;  its  display  of  stock  was,  thanks  to 
Mary-'Gusta's  recent  efforts  at  tidiness,  not  quite  the 
conglomerate  mass  it  had  been  when  the  partners  were 
solely  responsible,  but  the  variety  was  still  strikingly 
obvious. 

"Humph!"  observed  Crawford;  "I've  forgotten  what 
we  came  to  buy,  but  I'm  sure  it  is  here,  whatever  it  is. 
Some  emporium,  this !  Introduce  me  to  the  proprietor, 
will  you,  Edna?" 

Edna  giggled. 

"She  isn't  the  proprietor,"  she  said.  "She  is  just  the 
clerk,  that's  all.  Her  name  is — I've  forgotten  your 
name,  dear.  What  is  it?" 

"Mary  Lathrop,"  replied  Mary-'Gusta,  shortly.  She 
objected  to  being  addressed  as  "dear"  and  she  strongly 
objected  to  the  patronizing  tone  in  which  it  was  ut 
tered.  Edna  Keith  was  older  than  she,  but  not  old 
enough  to  patronize. 

"Oh,  yes,  so  it  is,"  said  the  young  lady.  "But  that 
isn't  what  everyone  calls  you.  They  call  you  something 
else — something  funny — Oh,  I  know!  Mary-'Gusta, 
that's  it.  I  knew  it  was  funny.  Mary-'Gusta,  this  is 
Mr.  Smith.  He  wants  to  buy  some  things.  And  he's 
in  a  great  hurry." 

"Charmed,  Mary-'Gusta,"  said  Mr.  Smith.  Mary- 
'Gusta  did  not  appear  charmed.  She  asked  him  what 
he  wanted. 

"Search  me,"  said  the  young  gentleman,  cheerfully. 
125 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"There  was  a  list,  wasn't  there,  Edna?  You  have  it, 
I  think." 

Edna  produced  the  list,  scrawled  in  pencil  on  the 
back  of  an  envelope.  Crawford  looked  it  over. 

"Sam's  writing  isn't  exactly  print,"  he  observed,  "but 
I  can  guess  at  it.  Let's  see — a  pound  of  butter.  Where's 
the  butter  department  of  this  Bon  Marche,  Edna?" 

Edna,  after  another  convulsion,  declared  she  didn't 
know. 

"No  doubt  Miss — er — Mary  Jane  knows,"  went  on 
her  companion.  "Why,  yes,  of  course  she  does.  Right 
there,  behind  the  oilskin  jacket.  Remove  jacket,  open 
door — behold,  the  icebox  and  the  butter.  Neat,  com 
pact,  and  convenient.  One  pound  only,  Elizabeth  Eliza. 
Thank  you." 

"Her  name  isn't  Elizabeth  Eliza,"  giggled  Miss  Keith. 
"Isn't  he  awful,  Mary-'Gusta !  You  mustn't  mind  him." 

"I  don't,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  promptly.  "What  else 
do  you  want?" 

Crawford  consulted  the  list.  "The  next  item,"  he 
said,  "appears  to  be  a — er — certain  kind  of  ham.  I 
blush  to  mention  it,  but  I  must.  It  is  deviled  ham. 
Have  you  that  kind  of  ham,  Mary-'Gusta?" 

Mary-'Gusta  took  the  can  of  deviled  ham  from  the 
shelf.  Crawford  shook  his  head. 

"To  think  that  one  so  young  should  be  so  familiar 
with  ham  of  that  kind !"  he  said.  "She  didn't  speak  its 
name,  though.  Suppose  I  had  asked  you  what  kind  of 
ham  you  had,  Miss — er — 'Gusta,  how  would  you  have 
got  around  it?" 

Mary-'Gusta  did  not  answer.  She  was  very  angry, 
but  she  was  determined  that  her  tormentor  should  not 
know  it. 

"A  young  lady  of  few  words,"  commented  Mr.  Smith. 
126 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Next  item  appears  to  be  six  boxes  of  marshmallows. 
Where  is  the  marshmallow  department,  Mary  Jane?" 

Mary-'Gusta  hesitated.  The  tin  boxes  of  marshmal 
lows  were  on  the  shelf  behind  the  counter  under  the 
candy  case.  But  there  was  a  fresh  assortment  in  an 
unopened  packing  box  in  the  back  room,  a  box  which 
had  just  come  from  the  wholesale  confectioner's  in  Bos 
ton.  Her  Uncle  Zoeth  had  expressed  a  fear  that  those 
beneath  the  counter  were  rather  stale. 

Miss  Keith  fidgeted.  "Oh,  dear!"  she  exclaimed. 
"This  is  so  slow.  I  know  Sam  and  the  rest  won't  wait 
for  us  at  the  clam-man's  much  longer." 

Her  companion  whistled.  "Is  the  word  'hurry'  in  the 
South  Harniss  dictionary,  Edna?"  he  inquired.  "How 
about  it,  Mary  Jane?" 

Mary-'Gusta  was  determined  not  to  hurry.  This  su 
perior  young  man  wished  her  to  do  so  and  that  was 
reason  sufficient  for  delay. 

Young  Smith  sighed  resignedly.  "Edna,"  he  said, 
"suppose  we  sit  down.  The  word  is  not  in  the  dic 
tionary." 

There  was  but  one  chair,  except  those  behind  the 
counters,  in  the  store.  Miss  Keith  took  that  with  an 
exclamation  of  impatience.  Crawford  Smith,  whistling 
a  mournful  dirge,  sauntered  to  the  end  of  the  counter 
and  sat  down  upon  a  nail  keg. 

Mary-'Gusta  also  uttered  an  exclamation.  It  is  well 
to  look  before  one  leaps,  also,  occasionally,  before  one 
sits.  That  keg  had,  spread  across  its  top,  a  sheet  of 
the  fresh  and  very  sticky  fly  paper.  Before  she  could 
have  protested,  even  if  she  had  wished  to  do  so,  the 
young  gentleman's  spotless  white  flannels  and  the  fly 
paper  came  in  contact,  close  and  clinging  contact. 

Mary-'Gusta  put  a  hand  to  her  mouth.  Crawford 
127 


MARY-'GUSTA 

looked  at  her,  caught  the  direction  of  her  look,  and 
looked  in  that  direction  himself.  His  whistle  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  note  and  his  face  immediately  be 
came  a  match  for  his  socks  and  tie,  a  beautiful  rich 
crimson,  the  chosen  color  of  his  University. 

Miss  Keith,  from  her  seat  by  the  door,  could  not 
see  beyond  the  end  of  the  counter.  Consequently  she 
was  unaware  of  the  mishap  to  the  white  flannels.  But 
Mary-'Gusta  saw  and  knew;  also  she  could  see  that 
Mr.  Smith  knew. 

"Oh,  dear!"  exclaimed  Edna,  impatiently.  "We  are 
dreadfully  late  now.  We'll  never  get  there  on  time. 
Sam  won't  wait  for  us;  I  know  he  won't.  Where  are 
those  marshmallows  ?  Can't  you  please  hurry,  Mary- 
'Gusta?" 

Mary-'Gusta's  eyes  were  sparkling.  Her  manner  was 
provokingly  deliberate.  She  took  a  box  of  marshmal 
lows  from  beneath  the  counter. 

"There  are  some  here,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  afraid 
they  aren't  very  fresh.  The  fresh  ones,  those  that  have 
just  come,  are  in  a  box  in  the  back  room.  That  box 
hasn't  been  opened  yet.  If  you  can  wait  I'll  open  it 
for  you." 

Young  Smith  said  nothing.  Miss  Keith,  however, 
spoke  her  mind. 

"Of  course  we  can't  wait,"  she  declared.  "I'm  sure 
these  will  do.  They  will  do,  won't  they,  Crawford?" 

And  still  Crawford  remained  silent.  Mary-'Gusta, 
who  was  enjoying  this  portion  of  the  interview  as  much 
as  she  had  disliked  its  beginning,  offered  a  suggestion. 

"If  you  will  just  come  here  and  look  at  these,"  she 
said,  with  mischievous  gravity,  addressing  the  young 
gentleman  on  the  nail  keg,  "perhaps  you  can  tell  whether 
they're  fresh  enough." 

128 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  young  gentleman  did  not  rise.  His  face  retained 
its  brilliant  color  and  his  lips  moved,  but  his  answer 
was  not  audible.  At  his  age  the  dread  of  appearing 
ridiculous,  especially  in  the  presence  of  a  youthful  and 
charming  female,  is  above  all  others  hateful.  And  Edna 
Keith  was  not  the  only  girl  in  the  picnic  party;  there 
were  others.  She  would  be  certain  to  tell  them.  Craw 
ford  Smith  foresaw  a  horrible  day,  a  day  of  disgrace 
and  humiliation,  one  in  which  he  was  destined  to  fur 
nish  amusement  without  sharing  the  fun.  And  Sam 
Keith,  who  had  remarked  upon  the  splendor  of  his 
friend's  attire,  would  gloat — not  only  here  in  South 
Harniss,  but  elsewhere — in  Cambridge,  for  instance.  An 
older  man  would  have  risen,  laughed  whether  he  felt 
like  laughing  or  not — and  have  expressed  his  opinion  of 
fly  paper.  Crawford  was  not  yet  a  man;  he  was  in 
the  transition  stage,  a  boy  fondly  hoping  that  other  peo 
ple  might  think  him  a  man.  So  he  sat  still  until  it  was 
too  late  to  rise,  and  then  wished  he  had  risen  in  the 
first  place. 

"My  goodness!"  exclaimed  the  fidgety  Miss  Keith, 
"why  don't  you  look  at  them,  Crawford?  What  are 
you  waiting  for?" 

Mary-'Gusta,  the  box  of  marshmallows  in  her  hand, 
regarded  the  boy  on  the  nail  keg.  His  eyes  met  hers  and 
in  them  was  a  look  of  such  utter  misery  that  the  girl 
relented.  Her  feeling  of  satisfied  resentment  changed 
to  one  almost  of  pity.  She  had  been  made  to  feel  ridicu 
lous  herself  at  various  times  in  her  short  life  and  she 
remembered  the  sensation.  Mary-'Gusta,  as  has  been 
mentioned  before  in  this  history,  was  old  for  her  years. 

She  considered  a  moment.  Then  she  thrust  the  box 
beneath  the  counter. 

"I  guess  I'd  better  not  sell  you  those,  anyway,"  she 
129 


MARY-'GUSTA 

said  with  decision.  "Uncle  Zoeth  said  they  weren't 
fresh.  I'll  open  the  case  in  the  back  room." 

Edna  stamped  her  foot. 

"We  can't  wait  for  that,"  she  declared.  "We  must  go 
without  them,  I  suppose.  Oh,  dear!  And  they  de 
pended  on  us  to  get  them.  It's  so  provoking.  Now 
we  can't  have  any  toast  at  all  and  it  would  have  been 
such  fun." 

Mary-'Gusta  glanced  once  more  at  the  occupant  of 
the  keg. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  slowly,  "that  you  needn't 
both  wait  unless  you  wanted  to.  Perhaps  Miss  Keith 
might  go  on  and  tell  the  others  and — er — Mr.  Smith 
could  stay  here  until  I  opened  the  box.  Then  he  could 
meet  you  at  the  boat." 

Edna  hesitated.     "Shall  I,  Crawford?"  she  asked. 

Her  companion  did  not  hesitate.  "I  think  perhaps 
you'd  better,  Edna,"  he  said.  "I — I  guess  I  won't  be 
long." 

Miss  Keith  hurried  out.  Mary-'Gusta  turned  her  at 
tention  to  the  remaining  visitor. 

"You  can  get  up  now,"  she  said.  "Some  of  it  will 
tear  off,  anyway,  and  if  you  hurry  you  will  have  time 
to  run  home  and  change  your — your  clothes." 

Crawford  was  evidently  much  surprised,  also  his  em 
barrassment  was  not  lessened;  but  he  rose. 

"Then — then  you  knew?"  he  stammered. 

"Of  course  I  knew.  I  saw  you  sit  down  on  it,  didn't 
I?  If  I'd  known  what  you  were  going  to  do  I'd  have 
told  you  to  look  out.  But  you  did  it  so  quick  I  couldn't. 
Now  tear  off  as  much  as  you  can." 

The  young  gentleman  obeyed  orders.  "Does  it  show 
much?"  he  queried.  "I  can't  see.  Is  there  much 
left?" 


'I  saw  you  sit  down  on  it' " 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary-'Gusta  smiled.  His  contortions  were  as  violent 
as  they  were  vain.  "There's  enough,"  she  said  simply. 
"Here  are  the  things  you  bought.  Now  go  out  of  the 
back  door  and  cut  across  the  fields.  It's  the  shortest 
way  home." 

Mr.  Smith  took  his  various  parcels,  including  the  six 
boxes  of  marshmallows  which  Mary-'Gusta  produced 
from  beneath  the  counter.  "I  thought  you  said  these 
were  stale,"  he  observed,  wonderingly. 

"I  said  they  weren't  real  fresh,  but  they're  fresh 
enough  for  a  toast.  I  said  that  so  that  the  Keith  girl 
wouldn't  wait.  I  didn't  think  you  wanted  her  to." 

"You  bet  your  life  I  didn't!  So  that's  why  you  said 
you  would  have  to  open  the  other  box?  Just — just  to 
help  me  out  ?" 

"Yes.  Now  don't  stop  any  longer.  You'll  have  to 
run,  you  know.  Go  out  the  back  way." 

Crawford  started  for  the  door  of  the  back  room, 
but  at  that  door  he  paused. 

"Say,"  he  said,  feelingly,  "this  is  mighty  white  of 
you,  do  you  know  it?  And  after  the  way  I  guyed  you 
when  I  first  came  in!  I  guess  I  was  rather  fresh, 
wasn't  I?" 

"Yes,  you  were." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  guess  I  was.  I  thought  you  were  just  a 
country  kid,  you  know,  and  I — say,  by  George,  you  were 
white.  If  I'd  been  you  I'd  have  got  square.  You  had 
the  chance;  'twould  have  served  me  right  for  playing 
the  smart  Aleck.  I  beg  your  pardon.  You're  all 
right!  And  I'm  awfully  sorry  I  was  such  a  chump." 

It  was  a  straightforward,  honest  apology  and  confes 
sion  of  fault.  Mary-'Gusta  was  pleased,  but  she  did 
not  show  it.  He  had  referred  to  her  as  a  kid  and  she 
did  not  like  that. 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"If  you  don't  hurry — yes,  and  run  like  everything," 
she  said,  "you  won't  have  time  to  get  home  and  change 
and  meet  the  others  at  the  boat.  And  somebody  else 
will  see  you,  too.  You'd  better  go." 

The  young  man  went  without  further  delay.  Mary- 
'Gusta  watching  from  the  back  door  saw  him  racing 
across  the  fields  in  the  direction  of  the  Keith  cottage. 
When  her  uncles  returned  she  said  nothing  of  the  occur 
rence.  She  considered  it  funny,  but  she  knew  Crawford 
Smith  did  not,  and  she  was  sure  he  would  prefer  to 
have  the  secret  kept. 

The  following  afternoon  the  partners  of  Hamilton  and 
Company  entertained  a  caller  at  the  store.  That  eve 
ning  Shadrach  spoke  of  the  call  to  Mary-'Gusta. 

"That  young  Smith  feller  that's  been  visitin'  the 
Keiths  was  in  today,"  said  the  Captain.  "Didn't  want 
to  buy  nothin';  said  he  just  happened  in,  that's  all. 
Asked  where  you  was,  he  did.  I  didn't  know  he  knew 
you,  Mary-'Gusta." 

Mary-'Gusta,  who  was  busy  clearing  the  supper  table, 
answered  without  looking  round.  "He  and  Edna 
Keith  bought  some  things  at  the  store  yesterday,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  so  he  said.  He  said  tell  you  everything  was 
all  right  and  he  had  a  fine  time  at  the  picnic.  Seemed 
to  cal'late  you  was  a  pretty  bright  girl.  We  knew  that 
afore,  of  course,  but  it  was  nice  of  him  to  say  so.  He's 
leavin'  on  tomorrow  mornin's  train.  Coin'  way  out 
West,  he  is,  to  Nevada;  that's  where  he  and  his  dad 
live.  His  ma's  dead,  so  he  told  us.  Must  be  tough 
to  live  so  fur  off  from  salt  water:  /  couldn't  stand  it, 
I  know  that.  Funny  thing  about  that  young  feller,  too ; 
his  face  looked  sort  of  familiar  to  me  and  Zoeth.  Seemed 
as  if  he  looked  like  somebody  we  knew,  but  of  course 

132 


MARY-'GUSTA 

we  didn't  know  any  of  his  folks;  we  don't  know  any 
Smiths  from  way  off  there." 

The  subject  was  dropped  for  the  time,  but  two  days 
later  the  expressman  brought  a  package  to  the  house. 
The  package  was  addressed  to  Miss  Mary  Augusta 
Lathrop  and  contained  a  five-pound  basket  of  expensive 
chocolates  and  bonbons.  There  was  a  note  with  it  which 
read  as  follows: 

Hope  you'll  like  these.  They  are  fresh,  at  least  Huyler's 
people  swear  they  are,  but  I  don't  believe  they  are  as  good 
as  those  marshmallows.  And  I  know  they  are  not  as  fresh 
as  a  certain  person  was  at  a  certain  time.  Please  eat  them 
and  forget  the  other  freshness. 

C.  S. 

You  were  a  perfect  little  brick  not  to  tell. 

Mary-'Gusta  was  obliged  to  tell  then,  but  she  made  her 
uncles  and  Isaiah  promise  not  to  do  so.  She,  with  the 
able  assistance  of  the  other  members  of  the  household, 
ate  the  contents  of  the  basket  in  due  time.  The  basket 
itself  was  taken  to  the  parlor,  where  it  was  given  a  place 
beside  the  other  curiosities.  As  for  the  note,  that  dis 
appeared.  And  yet,  if  one  had  investigated  the  contents 
of  the  small  drawer  of  Mary-'Gusta's  bureau,  where 
she  kept  her  most  intimate  treasures,  the  mystery  of  its 
disappearance  might  have  been  solved. 

It  was  the  only  epistle  of  its  kind  the  girl  had  yet 
received ;  and,  after  all,  good-looking  young  college  men 
are  what  they  are.  And  Mary-'Gusta,  in  spite  of  her 
queerness,  was  feminine — and  human. 


CHAPTER   IX 

WHEN  Maru-'Guato  was  seventeen  a  great  event 
took  place.    The  happening  which  led  to  it  was 
trivial  enough,  but  the  results  were  important 
and  far-reaching.    They  led  to  the  second  great  change  in 
her  life,  a  change  as  important  as  that  brought  about  by 
her  memorable  "visit"  to  South  Harniss. 

She  was  a  girl  in  years  still,  but  tall  for  her  age,  and 
in  thought  and  manner  almost  a  young  woman.  Her 
management  of  her  uncles  and  Isaiah  was  now  complete. 
They  no  longer  protested,  even  to  each  other,  against 
the  management  and,  in  fact,  gloried  in  it.  The  cook 
and  steward  accepted  her  orders  concerning  the  daily 
marketing  and  he  and  she  audited  the  monthly  bills. 
The  white  house  by  the  shore  was  a  different  place 
altogether  now  and  "chicken-pox  tablecloths"  and  tar 
nished  silver  were  things  of  the  forgotten  past.  At 
the  store  she  had  become  almost  a  silent  partner,  and 
Hamilton  and  Company's  "emporium"  was,  thanks  to  her 
judgment  and  tact,  if  not  yet  an  up-to-date  establish 
ment,  at  least  a  shop  where  commodities  to  be  sold  were 
in  places  where  they  might  be  seen  by  prospective  pur 
chasers  and  readily  located  by  the  proprietors. 

She  spent  a  good  deal  of  her  time,  except  in  school 
hours,  at  the  store  and  much  of  the  buying  as  well  as 
the  selling  was  done  by  her.  The  drummers  represent 
ing  New  York  and  Boston  wholesale  houses  knew  her 
and  cherished  keen  respect  for  her  abilities  as  a  selector 
and  purchaser  of  goods. 

134 


MARY-'GUSTA 

'Say,"  said  one  of  these  gentlemen,  after  a  lengthy 
session  during  which  his  attempts  to  work  off  several 
"stickers"  had  been  frustrated  by  Mary-'Gusta's  com 
mon  sense  and  discernment — "Say,  that  girl  of  yours  is  a 
wonder,  do  you  know  it?  She's  the  sharpest  buyer  I 
ever  run  across  on  my  trips  down  here.  I  don't  take 
a  back  seat  for  anybody  when  it  comes  to  selling  goods, 
and  there's  mighty  little  I  can't  sell;  but  I  can't  bluff 
her.  She  knows  what's  what,  you  hear  me!" 

Shadrach,  to  whom  this  remark  was  made,  chuckled. 
"You  bet  you!"  he  declared,  with  enthusiasm.  "Any 
body  that  gets  ahead  of  our  Mary-'Gusta  has  got  to  turn 
out  afore  the  mornin'  watch.  She's  smart.  Zoeth  and 
me  ain't  aboard  the  same  craft  with  her." 

"I  should  say  not.  And  you  can't  get  gay  with  her, 
either.  Most  girls  of  her  age  and  as  good  a  looker  as 
she  is  don't  object  to  a  little  ragging:  they're  used  to  it 
and  they  like  it — but  not  her.  She  isn't  fishing  for  boxes 
of  candy  or  invitations  to  dances.  That  line  of  talk 
means  good-by  and  no  sale  where  she  is.  Business  and 
just  business,  that's  all  there  is  to  her.  How  long  are 
you  goin'  to  keep  her  here?" 

"How  long?  Why,  forever,  I  hope.  What  are  you 
talkin'  about?" 

The  drummer  winked.  "That's  all  right,"  he  observed. 
"You  want  to  keep  her,  I  don't  doubt :  but  one  of  these 
days  somebody  else'll  be  wanting  her  more  than  you 
do.  Mr.  Right'll  be  coming  along  here  some  time  and 
then — good  night!  She's  young  yet,  but  in  a  couple  of 
years  she'll  be  a  queen  and  then — well,  then  maybe  I'll 
stand  a  better  chance  of  unloading  those  last  summer 
caps  the  house  has  got  in  stock.  Girls  like  her  don't 
stay  single  and  keep  store ;  there's  too  much  demand  and 
not  enough  competition.  Gad!  If  I  wasn't  an  antique 

135 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  married  already  I  don't  know  but  I'd  be  getting 
into  line.    That's  what !" 

Captain  Shadrach  was  inclined  to  be  angry,  but,  al 
though  he  would  not  have  admitted  it,  he  realized  the 
truth  of  this  frank  statement.  Mary-'Gusta  was  pretty, 
she  was  more  than  that,  and  the  line  was  already  form 
ing.  Jimmie  Bacheldor  had  long  ago  ceased  to  be  a 
competitor;  that  friendship  had  ended  abruptly  at  the 
time  of  David's  narrow  escape;  but  there  were  others, 
plenty  of  them.  Daniel  Higgins,  son  of  Mr.  Solomon 
Higgins,  the  local  lumber  dealer  and  undertaker,  was 
severely  smitten.  Dan  was  at  work  in  Boston,  where 
he  was  engaged  in  the  cheerful  and  remunerative  busi 
ness  of  selling  coffins  for  the  American  Casket  Com 
pany.  He  was  diligent  and  active  and  his  future  prom 
ised  to  be  bright,  at  least  so  his  proud  father  boasted. 
He  came  home  for  holidays  and  vacations  and  his  rai 
ment  was  anything  but  funereal,  but  Mary-'Gusta  was 
not  impressed  either  by  the  raiment  or  the  personality 
beneath  it.  She  treated  the  persistent  Daniel  as  a  boy 
and  a  former  schoolmate.  When  he  assumed  manly  airs 
she  laughed  at  him  and  when  he  invited  her  to  accom 
pany  him  to  the  Cattle  Show  at  Ostable  she  refused 
and  said  she  was  going  with  Uncle  Zoeth. 

Dan  Higgins  was  not  the  only  young  fellow  who 
found  the  store  of  Hamilton  and  Company  an  attrac 
tive  lounging  place.  Some  of  the  young  gentlemen 
not  permanent  residents  of  South  Harniss  also  appeared 
to  consider  it  a  pleasant  place  to  visit  on  Summer  aft 
ernoons.  They  came  to  buy,  of  course,  but  they  re 
mained  to  chat.  Mary-'Gusta  might  have  sailed  or 
picknicked  a  good  deal  and  in  the  best  of  company, 
socially  speaking,  if  she  had  cared  to  do  so.  She  did 
not  so  care. 

136 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"They  don't  want  me,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said.  "And 
I  don't  want  to  go." 

'"'Course  they  want  you,"  declared  Shadrach,  stoutly. 
"If  they  didn't  want  you  they  wouldn't  ask  you,  'tain't 
likely.  And  I  heard  that  young  Keith  feller  askin'  you 
to  go  out  sailin'  with  him  this  very  afternoon." 

"You  didn't  hear  his  sister  ask  me,  did  you?  There, 
there,  Uncle  Shad,  don't  worry  about  me.  I'm  having  a 
good  time ;  a  very  much  better  time  than  if  I  went  sailing 
with  the  Keiths." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  Keiths  ?  They're  as  nice 
folks  as  come  to  South  Harniss." 

"Of  course  they  are." 

"Well,  then!  And  you're  as  good  as  they  are,  ain't 
you?" 

"I  hope  so.  Uncle  Shad,  why  don't  you  wear  a  white 
flannel  suit  in  hot  weather?  Mr.  Keith,  Sam's  father, 
wore  one  at  the  church  garden  party  the  other  day." 

The  Captain  stared  at  her.  "Why  don't  I  wear — 
what?"  he  stammered. 

"A  white  flannel  suit.  You're  as  good  as  Mr.  Keith, 
aren't  you?" 

"I  guess  I  am.  I  don't  know  why  I  ain't.  But  what 
kind  of  a  question's  that?  I'd  look  like  a  plain  fool 
togged  out  in  one  of  them  things:  anyway,  I'd  feel  like 
one.  I  don't  belong  in  a  white  flannel  suit.  I  ain't  no 
imitation  dude." 

"And  I  don't  belong  in  Sam  Keith's  yacht.  At  least 
Mr.  Keith  and  Edna  would  feel  that  I  didn't.  I  don't 
want  to  be  considered  an  imitation,  either." 

Shadrach  shook  his  head.  "You  ain't  like  anybody 
else,"  he  said.  "You're  a  funny  girl,  Mary-'Gusta." 

"I  suppose  I  am;  but  I'm  not  as  funny  as  I  should 
be  if  I  tried  to  be  somebody  else.  No,  Uncle  Shad, 

137 


MARY-'GUSTA 

you'll  just  have  to  bear  with  me  as  I  am,  funniness 
and  all." 

A  few  days  after  this  Keith,  senior,  came  into  the 
store.  He  was  not  arrayed  in  the  white  flannels  but 
was  wearing  a  rather  shabby  but  very  comfortable  tweed 
jacket  and  trousers  and  a  white  canvas  hat  of  the  kind 
which  Hamilton  and  Company  sold  for  fifty  cents.  His 
shirt  was  of  the  soft-collared  variety  and  his  shoes  were 
what  South  Harniss  called  "sneakers." 

John  Keith's  visits  to  Cape  Cod  were  neither  very 
frequent  nor  lengthy.  His  wife  and  family  came  in 
June  and  remained  until  late  September,  but  his  so 
journs  were  seldom  longer  than  a  week  at  a  time  and 
there  were  intervals  of  a  month  or  more  between  them. 
In  Chicago  he  was  the  head  of  a  large  business  and  that 
business  demanded  close  attention.  When  he  left  it  he 
left  his  cares  with  it  and  enjoyed  himself  in  his  own 
way.  That  way  included  old  clothes,  golf,  a  boat,  and 
just  as  few  tea  and  garden  parties  as  his  wife  would 
permit. 

He  was  planning  a  fishing  trip  and  had  stopped  at  the 
store  to  buy  some  tobacco.  The  partners  had  gone  home 
for  dinner  and  Mary-'Gusta  was  tending  shop.  At  that 
moment  she  was  busy  with  the  traveling  representative 
of  Messrs.  Bernstein,  Goldberg  and  Baun,  of  Provi 
dence,  wholesale  dealers  in  stationery,  cards  and  novel 
ties.  The  time  was  August,  but  Mr.  Kron,  the  drummer, 
was  already  booking  orders  for  the  Christmas  season. 
His  samples  were  displayed  upon  the  counter  and  he 
and  Mary-'Gusta  were  deep  in  conversation. 

"That's  what  you  ought  to  have,"  declared  Mr.  Kron, 
with  enthusiasm.  "Believe  me,  there's  goin'  to  be  some 
call  for  that  line  of  stuff  this  year.  The  house  can't 
turn  'em  out  fast  enough." 

138 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"But  what  is  it?"  asked  Mary-'Gusta.  "What's  it 
for?" 

"It's  a  combination  calendar  and  beauty-box,"  ex 
plained  Mr.  Kron.  "Hang  it  on  the  wall  by  your  bureau 
— see?  In  the  mornin'  you  can't  remember  what  day 
it  is.  All  right,  there's  the  calendar.  Then  you  want  to 

co"'  yourself  up  for — well,  for  the  party  you're  goin* 

,  ?.» 

"The  same  morning?"  interrupted  Mary-'Gusta. 

]\Ir.  Kron  grinned.  He  was  a  young  man  and  this 
was  his  first  trip  in  that  section.  His  clothes  were 
neither  modest  nor  retiring  and  he,  himself,  did  not 
suffer  from  these  failings.  Also  he  prided  himself  on 
having  a  way  with  the  ladies,  especially  the  younger 
ladies.  And  Mary-'Gusta  was  distinctly  the  most  at 
tractive  young  person  he  had  met  on  this  trip. 

He  laughed  in  appreciation  of  the  joke. 

"Say,"  he  observed,  admiringly,  "you're  up  to  the 
minute,  ain't  you!  You're  some  kidder,  all  right.  Are 
there  many  more  in  this  burg  like  you?  If  there  are 
I'm  goin'  to  move  in  and  settle  down.  What?" 

Mary-'Gusta  did  not  laugh,  nor  did  she  answer.  In 
stead,  she  turned  to  the  gentleman  who  had  entered  the 
store. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Keith,"  she  said.  "Was  there 
anything  you  wanted?" 

Keith  smiled.  "No  hurry,"  he  said.  "I've  got  a  lit 
tle  time  to  kill  and  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  kill  it  here. 
I'll  sit  down  and  wait,  if  I  may.  That  boatman  of 
mine  will  be  along  pretty  soon." 

He  took  the  chair  by  the  door.  Mr.  Kron  continued 
his  exploitation  of  the  combination  calendar  and  beauty- 
box. 

"You  are  goin'  to  a  party,"  he  went  on,  "either  that 
139 


MARY-'GUSTA 

night  or  that  afternoon  or  sometime.  Sure  you  are! 
Girls  like  you  ain't  handed  the  go-by  on  many  parties 
in  this  neck  of  the  woods — am  I  right?  Well,  then, 
when  the  time  comes,  you  pull  down  the  flap.  There's 
your  beauty-box,  lookin'-glass,  powder  puff  and  powder, 
all  complete.  Now  a  novelty  like  that  will  sell " 

"We  couldn't  use  it,"  interrupted  Mary-'Gusta.  "Show 
me  something  else." 

Mr.  Kron,  disappointed  but  far  from  discouraged, 
showed  her  something  else — many  somethings.  Con 
cerning  each  he  was  enthusiastic,  slangy,  and  familiar. 
Mary-'Gusta  paid  little  attention  to  slang  or  enthusiasm ; 
the  familiarity  she  ignored  utterly.  She  selected  several 
of  the  novelties,  a  rather  extensive  line  of  Christmas 
cards,  and  in  the  matters  of  price  and  cash  discounts 
was  keen  and  businesslike.  Keith  watched  and  listened, 
at  first  with  amusement,  then  with  growing  admiration 
for  the  girl's  simplicity  and  good  sense. 

Mr.  Kron's  admiration  was  outspoken. 

"Say,"  he  said,  as  he  repacked  his  samples,  "you're 
a  mighty  clever  buyer,  do  you  know  it?  That  line  of 
stuff  you've  ordered  is  the  cream,  that's  what  it  is.  You 
made  a  mistake  in  not  layin'  in  a  dozen  or  two  of  those 
combination  beauty-boxes,  but  that's  all  right.  Here, 
have  one  for  yourself.  Take  it  with  my  compli 
ments." 

Mary-'Gusta  declined.    "No,  thank  you,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?  It  don't  come  out  of  my  pocket.  The 
firm  expects  me  to  hand  out  little  keepsakes  like  that. 
I've  been  plantin'  'em  with  the  girls  all  the  way  down." 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  replied. 

Mr.  Kron,  having  finished  his  business  as  representa 
tive  of  Messrs.  Bernstein,  Goldberg  and  Baun,  attempted 
a  stroke  of  his  own. 

140 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Say,"  he  said,  "I've  got  a  little  spare  time  on  my 
hands  this  evenin' ;  I  shan't  make  the  next  town  until  to 
morrow.  There's  a  new  movie  theater  just  opened  over 
to  Orham.  They  tell  me  it's  all  to  the  mustard.  I  can 
hire  a  rig  here  and  you  and  me  might  drive  over  tonight 
and  take  it  in.  What  do  you  say,  Kid?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Mary-'Gusta  again. 

"But " 

"No,  thank  you.     Good  day." 

She  turned  away  to  enter  the  order  she  had  just  given 
in  a  book  on  the  desk.  Mr.  Kron  tried  again,  but  she 
did  not  appear  to  hear  him.  He  grinned,  observed 
"Oh,  very  well!"  and,  with  a  wink  at  Mr.  Keith,  went 
out,  a  suitcase  in  each  hand. 

Keith  rose  from  the  chair  and,  walking  over  to  the 
counter,  requested  to  be  supplied  with  the  tobacco  he 
had  come  to  buy.  Mary-'Gusta  gave  it  to  him.  Her 
cheeks  were  red  and  Keith  was  surprised  to  notice  that 
she  looked  almost  as  if  she  would  like  to  cry.  He  guessed 
the  reason. 

"That  young  man  will  get  himself  thoroughly  kicked 
some  day,"  he  observed;  "I'm  not  sure  that  I  oughtn't 
to  have  done  it  myself  just  now.  He  annoyed  you,  I'm 
afraid." 

Mary-'Gusta  answered  without  looking  at  him. 

"That's  all  right,"  she  said.  "I'm  foolish,  I  guess. 
He  meant  to  be  nice,  perhaps.  Some  girls  may  like  that 
sort  of  niceness ;  I  don't." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  him  to  get  out?" 

"I  wanted  to  see  his  samples.  It  is  time  for  us  to 
buy  our  Christmas  things  and  I  had  rather  choose  them 
myself,  that's  all." 

"Oh!     But  Mr.  Hamilton  or  the  Captain — I  should 

think " 

141 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Oh,  they  might  have  bought  some  that  we  couldn't 
sell." 

"The  beauty-boxes,  for  instance?" 

Mary-'Gusta  smiled.  "Why,  yes,"  she  admitted ;  "per 
haps." 

"I  see.  But  it  was  rather  an  ordeal  for  you.  Do 
you  have  to  endure  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  ?" 

"No  more  than  any  girl  who  keeps  store,  I  guess." 

At  the  dinner  table  that  evening  Keith  referred  to  his 
experience  as  listener  in  Hamilton  and  Company's  shop. 

"That  girl  with  the  queer  name,"  he  said,  "a  niece  of 
those  two  old  chaps  who  run  the  place,  I  believe  she  is. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  her,  Gertrude?" 

Before  Mrs.  Keith  could  reply,  Edna  spoke: 

"Ask  Sam,  Dad,"  she  said,  mischievously.  "Sam 
knows  about  her.  He  just  adores  that  store;  he  spends 
half  his  time  there." 

"Nonsense,  Edna!"  protested  Sam,  turning  red.  "I 
don't  do  any  such  thing." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  And  you  know  about  Mary-'Gusta 
too.  He  says  she's  a  peach,  Daddy." 

"Humph!"  grunted  her  brother,  indignantly.  "Well, 
she  is  one.  She's  got  every  girl  in  your  set  skinned  a 
mile  for  looks.  But  I  don't  know  anything  about  her, 
of  course." 

Mrs.  Keith  broke  in.  "Skinned  a  mile !"  she  repeated, 
with  a  shudder.  "Sam,  what  language  you  do  use! 
Yes,  John,"  she  added,  addressing  her  husband.  "I 
know  the  girl  well.  She's  pretty  and  she  is  sensible. 
For  a  girl  who  has  had  no  opportunities  and  has  lived 
all  her  life  here  in  South  Harniss  she  is  really  quite  re 
markable.  Why  do  you  speak  of  her,  John  ?" 

Mr.  Keith  related  a  part  of  the  conversation  between 
Mary-'Gusta  and  Mr.  Kron. 

142 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"She  handled  the  fellow  splendidly,"  he  said.  "She 
talked  business  with  him  and  she  wouldn't  let  him  talk 
anything  else.  But  it  was  plain  enough  to  see  that  she 
felt  insulted  and  angry.  It  seems  a  pity  that  a  girl  like 
that  should  have  to  put  up  with  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
wonder  if  her  uncles,  old  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Captain 
Shadrach,  realize  what  happens  when  they're  not  about? 
How  would  they  take  it,  do  you  think,  if  I  dropped  a 
hint?" 

Edna  laughed.  "You  would  have  to  be  very  careful, 
Daddy,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Hamilton  and  the  Captain  ido 
lize  Mary-'Gusta  and  she  just  worships  them.  Besides, 
she  isn't  really  their  niece,  you  know.  She  is  a  young 
lady  of  independent  means — at  least,  so  everybody  says." 

Her  father  was  surprised.  He  asked  what  she  meant 
by  "independent  means."  Mrs.  Keith  answered. 

"The  means  are  not  very  extensive,  I  imagine,"  she 
said.  "The  story  is  that  this  Mary-'Gusta — why  they 
persist  in  calling  her  by  that  dreadful  name  I  can't  un 
derstand — is  the  daughter  of  a  former  friend  and  part 
ner.  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Captain  Gould  adopted  her 
and  she  has  lived  with  them  ever  since.  She  has  money 
of  her  own,  though  no  two  of  the  townspeople  agree 
as  to  how  much.  I've  heard  it  estimated  all  the  way 
from  five  to  fifty  thousand.  She  never  speaks  of  it 
and  those  queer  old  uncles  of  hers  keep  their  affairs  very 
much  to  themselves.  But  I  agree  with  you,  John;  it 
is  a  shame  that  she  should  have  to  spend  her  life  here 
in  South  Harniss.  I  think  we  ought  to  do  something 
for  her,  if  we  can.  I  shall  think  it  over." 

Mrs.  Keith  was  always  doing  something  for  some 
body.  At  home  in  Chicago  she  was  president  of  her 
women's  club  and  identified  with  goodness  knows  how 
many  charitable  societies.  In  South  Harniss  she  was 


MARY-'GUSTA 

active  in  church  and  sewing  circles.  Her  enthusiasm 
was  always  great,  but  her  tact  was  sometimes  lacking. 
South  Harniss  people,  some  of  them,  were  inclined  to 
consider  her  as  a  self-appointed  boss  interfering  where 
she  had  no  business. 

Her  husband  looked  a  trifle  dubious. 

"Be  careful,  Gertrude,"  he  cautioned.  "Look  out  you 
don't  offend.  These  Cape  Codders  are  self-respecting 
and  touchy,  you  know.  Anyone  interfering  with  their 
private  affairs  is  likely  to  get  into  trouble." 

His  wife  resented  the  warning.  "Don't  throw  cold 
water  on  everything,  John,"  she  said.  "I  know  more 
about  Cape  Codders  than  you  do.  You  only  meet  them 
for  a  few  weeks  each  summer.  I  flatter  myself  that  / 
know  them  and  that  they  know  and  trust  me.  Of  course 
I  shall  be  careful.  And  I  shall  think  the  Mary-'Gusta 
matter  over." 

She  did  think  it  over  and  a  week  later  she  came  to 
her  husband  overflowing  with  the  excitement  of  a  bril 
liant  idea.  A  cousin  of  hers,  a  maiden  lady  of  sixty  or 
thereabouts,  wealthy  and  a  semi-invalid  who  cherished 
her  ill-health,  was  in  need  of  a  female  companion.  Mrs. 
Keith  was  certain  that  Mary-'Gusta  would  be  just  the 
person  to  fill  that  need. 

Mr.  Keith  was  by  no  means  so  certain.  He  raised 
some  objections. 

"Humph,"  he  said.  "Well,  Gertrude,  to  be  frank,  I 
don't  think  much  of  the  scheme.  Cousin  Clara  has  had 
one  companion  after  the  other  for  thirty  years.  None 
of  them  has  stayed  with  her  very  long.  She  requires 
a  sort  of  combination  friend  and  lady's  maid  and  sec 
retary  and  waitress,  and  I  don't  think  our  Mary-'Gusta 
would  enjoy  that  sort  of  job.  I  certainly  shouldn't— 
with  Clara." 

144 


MARY-'GUSTA 

His  wife  was  indignant.  "I  might  have  known  you 
would  be  ready  with  the  cold  water,"  she  declared. 
"Clara  is — well,  cranky,  and  particular  and  all  that,  but 
the  opportunity  is  wonderful.  The  girl  would  travel 
and  meet  the  best  people " 

"She  might  remove  their  wraps,  I  admit." 

"Nonsense!  And  if  Clara  took  a  fancy  to  her  she 
might  leave  her  a  good  sum  of  money  when  she  died." 

"Perhaps,  providing  the  girl  didn't  die  first.  No,  Ger 
trude,  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  don't  think 
much  of  your  idea.  Anyway,  according  to  my  belief r 
you're  approaching  this  thing  from  the  wrong  end.  It 
isn't  the  girl  herself  you  should  try  to  influence,  but  her 
uncles,  or  guardians,  or  whatever  they  are.  If  I  know 
her,  and  I've  been  making  some  inquiries,  she  won't 
leave  them.  She  will  consider  that  they  need  her  at 
the  house  and  store  and  she'll  stay.  They  are  the  ones 
to  influence.  If  the  matter  of  her  welfare  and  future 
was  put  to  them  in  the  right  light  they  might — well, 
they  might  sacrifice  themselves  to  benefit  her." 

"Rubbish!  I  know  I'm  right.  She'll  jump  at  the  op 
portunity.  I  shall  tell  her  about  it  this  very  afternoon." 

"She  won't  accept;  I'll  bet  on  it." 

His  principal  reason  for  non-belief  in  Mary-'Gusta's 
acceptance  was  his  knowledge  of  his  wife's  lack  of  tact. 
The  girl  did  not  consider  herself,  nor  was  she,  a  subject 
of  charity.  And  the  position  of  combination  friend  and 
servant  would  not  appeal  to  her.  John  Keith  had  an 
idea  of  his  own  concerning  Mary-'Gusta,  but  it  could 
wait  until  his  wife's  had  failed. 

It  failed,  of  course,  and  Mrs.  Keith,  that  evening,  was 
indignant  and  angry. 

"I  never  was  so  treated  in  my  life,"  she  declared. 
145 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"That  girl  didn't  know  her  place  at  all.     I'm  through. 
I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  matter." 

"Wasn't  she  polite?"  inquired  Keith. 

"Oh,  she  was  polite  enough,  as  far  as  that  goes,  but 
she  wouldn't  even  consider  my  proposal.  Wouldn't  even 
hear  me  through.  She  said  she  had  no  thought  of  leav 
ing  South  Harniss.  She  was  quite  satisfied  and  con 
tented  where  she  was.  One  would  think  I  had  come 
to  ask  a  favor  instead  of  conferring  one.  Why,  she 
seemed  to  think  my  plan  almost  ridiculous." 

"Did  she  say  so?" 

"No,  of  course  she  didn't.  She  thanked  me  and  all 
that;  but  she  snubbed  me  just  the  same.  I'm  disgusted. 
I'm  through — absolutely  and  completely  through  trying 
to  help  that  girl !" 

Keith  did  not  say,  "I  told  you  so";  in  fact,  he  said 
little  or  nothing  more  at  the  time.  But  a  day  or  two 
afterwards  he  called  at  the  store.  Zoeth  and  Captain 
Shadrach  were  alone  there,  their  niece  having  gone  down 
to  the  house,  a  fact  of  which  the  caller  was  aware. 

The  partners  liked  John  Keith.  They  considered  him, 
as  Captain  Shad  said,  "a  first-rate,  everyday  sort  of 
feller,"  who  did  not  patronize  nor  put  on  airs,  even 
though  he  was  a  "summer  man"  and  rich.  When  he 
talked  with  them  it  was  of  things  they  understood,  local 
affairs,  the  cranberry  crop,  fishing,  and  the  doings  of 
the  Board  of  Selectmen.  He  was  willing  to  listen  as 
well  as  talk  and  he  did  not  refer  to  permanent  residents 
as  "natives,"  a  habit  of  his  wife's  which  irritated  the 
Captain  extremely. 

"Jumpin'  fire !"  said  the  latter  on  one  occasion,  "every 
time  that  woman  calls  us  town  folks  'natives'  I  feel  as 
if  she  cal'lated  I  lived  up  a  tree  and  chucked  coconuts 
at  folks.  I  don't  wonder  some  of  the  South  Sea  Islands 

146 


MARY-'GUSTA 

heathen  eat  missionaries.  If  I  ate  that  woman  she  might 
agree  with  me;  she  don't  as  'tis.  Every  time  I  say  yes 
she  says  no,  and  that  makes  me  think  yes  harder'n 
ever." 

So  Mrs.  Keith  was  not  popular  with  the  South  Har- 
niss  natives,  perhaps  because  she  tried  so  hard  to  be; 
her  husband,  who  apparently  did  not  try  to  be,  was.  He 
and  his  opinions  were  liked  and  respected.  When  he 
came  into  the  store,  therefore,  on  this  occasion,  Zoeth 
and  Shad  welcomed  him,  asked  him  to  sit  down,  and 
the  conversation  began  with  the  astonishing  rise  in  the 
price  of  sea-front  property  and  drifted  from  that  to 
other  timely  and  general  topics. 

Just  how  it  drifted  to  Mary-'Gusta  and  her  future 
neither  of  the  partners  could  have  told — however,  drift 
there  it  did,  and  they  found  themselves  chanting  her 
praises  to  their  caller,  who  seemed  much  interested. 

"She  is  a  remarkably  capable  girl,"  observed  Mr. 
Keith.  "And  before  we  realize  it  she  will  be  a  young 
woman.  Are  you  planning  that  she  shall  keep  store  and 
keep  house  for  you  the  rest  of  her  life,  or  the  rest  of 
yours  ?" 

Zoeth  shook  his  head.  "Why,"  he  said,  mildly,  "I 
don't  know's  we've  planned  much  about  it  so  fur.  Those 
things  sort  of  take  care  of  themselves,  always  seemed 
to  me.  Or  the  Almighty  takes  care  of  'em  for  us." 

Their  visitor  smiled.  "Someone  else  will  be  willing 
and  anxious  to  take  care  of  her  before  many  years,  or 
I  miss  my  guess,"  he  said.  "She  is  likely  to  marry,  you 
know.  There  must  be  some  promising  young  fellows 
down  here." 

Shadrach  sniffed.  It  was  a  subject  he  never  discussed 
with  his  partner  and  did  not  like  even  to  think  about. 
The  remark  of  the  hat  and  cap  drummer  concerning 

147 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  coming  of  a  "Mr.  Right"  had  troubled  him  not  a 
little. 

"Ugh!"  he  grunted;  "there's  promisin'  ones  enough. 
Most  of  those  that  are  contented  to  stay  here  in  South 
Harniss  are  nothin'  but  promise ;  they  ain't  so  strong  on 
makin'  good.  'Tain't  like  'twas  when  Zoeth  and  me  were 
young  ourselves.  Now  all  the  smart,  ambitious  boys 
go  up  to  the  city  to  work." 

"Some  of  the  girls  go  up  there,  too,  don't  they?  To 
school,  or  college?  Didn't  I  hear  that  Christopher  Mul 
let's  daughter  was  at  school  in  Bridgewater?" 

"Ugh!"  grunted  Shadrach  again.  "I  cal'late  you  did 
hear.  If  you  didn't  you're  the  only  one  in  town  that 
ain't.  Becky  Mullet — yes,  and  Chris,  too — ain't  done 
anything  but  brag  about  their  Irene's  goin'  off  to  what 
they  call  'finishin'  school.'  Judas!  I  see  her  finish. 
She  ain't  got — I  swan  that  girl  ain't  got  anything  in  her 
head  but  gas,  and  every  time  she  opens  her  mouth  she 
loses  enough  of  that  to  keep  a  lighthouse  lit  up  all  night." 

"Shadrach,"  murmured  Zoeth,  "don't  say  such  un 
likely  things  about  folks.  Be  charitable  as  you  can." 

"Judas!  I  am — as  much  as  I  can.  If  I  wasn't 
charitable  to  that  Mullet  girl  I'd  be  talkin'  yet.  I  hove 
to  afore  I'd  got  scarcely  under  way." 

Keith  put  in  a  word.  "Finishing  schools  are  not  all 
bad,  by  any  means,"  he  said.  "There  are  various  kinds 
and  grades,  of  course,  but  a  good  private  school  for 
girls  is  a  fine  thing.  It  teaches  them  to  meet  and  judge 
people  of  all  kinds,  and  that  fine  feathers  don't  always 
make  fine  birds.  Then,  too,  a  girl  at  a  good  school 
of  that  sort  is  under  strict  discipline  and  her  acquaint 
ances,  male  acquaintances  especially,  are  chosen  with 
care.  Sixteen  to  eighteen  is  a  dangerous  age  for  the 
average  girl. 

148 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"By  the  way,"  he  added,  "did  your  niece  tell  you  of 
her  experience  with  that  traveling  salesman  the  other 
day,  the  fellow  selling  Christmas  novelties  ?  No  ?  Well, 
I  happened  to  be  here  at  the  time.  It  was  rather  in 
teresting." 

He  told  of  Mary-'Gusta's  session  with  Mr.  Kron.  The 
partners  listened  with  growing  indignation. 

"Well,  by  the  jumpin'!"  exclaimed  Captain  Shad. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  such  brassy  talk  in  your  life!  I 
wish  to  thunder  I'd  been  here.  There'd  have  been  one 
mighty  sick  patient  ready  for  the  doctor  and  he  wouldn't 
have  been  a  South  Harniss  native  either.  But  Mary- 
'Gusta  didn't  take  none  of  his  sauce,  I  tell  you;  that 
girl  of  ours  is  all  right!" 

"Yes,  she  is  all  right.  But  she  didn't  enjoy  the  ex 
perience,  that  was  plain  enough,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
she  is  likely  to  have  a  good  many  others  of  the  same 
kind.  Now  it  isn't  my  business,  I  know  that;  you  can 
tell  me  to  shut  up  and  clear  out  any  time  you  like,  of 
course;  but  do  you  think  it  is  just  fair  to  a  girl  like 
your  niece  to  condemn  her  to  a  life  of  storekeeping  or 
the  alternative  of  marrying  one  of  the  promising  young 
men  you've  been  talking  about?  Don't  you  think  such 
a  girl  as  she  is  deserves  a  chance;  every  chance  you 
can  give  her?" 

The  two  partners  stared  at  him  open-mouthed.  Shad- 
rach,  as  usual,  spoke  first. 

"Condemn  her?"  he  repeated.  "Condemn  Mary- 
'Gusta?  A  chance?  Why " 

"Hush,  Shadrach,"  interrupted  Zoeth.  "Mr.  Keith 
ain't  done  yet.  He's  goin'  to  tell  us  what  he  means. 
Go  on,  Mr.  Keith,  what  do  you  mean?" 

Keith,  having  broken  the  ice,  and  found  the  water 
not  so  chilly  as  he  had  feared  it  might  be,  plunged  in. 

149 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Well,  I  mean  this,"  he  said.  "I  confess  frankly 
that  I  have  been  very  favorably  impressed  by  your  niece. 
She  is  an  unusual  girl — unusually  pretty,  of  course,  but 
much  more  than  that.  She  is  simple  and  brave  and 
sensible  and  frank.  If  she  were  my  daughter  I  should 
be  very  proud  of  her.  I  know  you  are.  She  should 
have,  it  seems  to  me,  the  opportunity  to  make  the  most 
of  her  qualities  and  personality.  I've  been  thinking 
about  her  a  great  deal  ever  since  my  call  at  the  store 
here  the  other  day.  Now  I've  got  a  suggestion  to  make. 
You  can  take  it  or  leave  it,  but  I  assure  you  it  is  made 
with  the  best  of  intentions  and  solely  in  her  interest  as 
I  see  it;  and  I  hope  you'll  take  it  after  you've  thought 
it  over.  Here  it  is." 

He  went  on  to  impart  the  suggestion.  His  hearers 
listened,  Zoeth  silently  and  Shadrach  with  occasional 
mutterings  and  exclamations. 

"So  there  you  are,"  said  Keith  in  conclusion.  "The 
school  is  a  good  one,  one  of  the  best  in  Boston.  Two 
years  there  will  do  worlds  for  your  niece.  It  has  done 
worlds  for  other  girls  I  have  known.  It  is  rather  ex 
pensive,  of  course,  but,  as  I  understand  it,  Mary  has 
money  of  her  own  of  which  you,  as  her  guardians,  have 
charge.  She  couldn't  spend  a  portion  of  that  money  to 
better  advantage." 

Zoeth  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  at  the  Captain  and 
the  Captain  looked  at  him. 

"She  has  money  of  her  own,  hasn't  she?"  inquired 
Mr.  Keith.  "I  have  been  told  she  was  left  an  inde 
pendent  fortune  by  her  father." 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence.  The  partners 
were  quite  aware  of  the  general  belief  in  Mary-'Gusta's 
independent  fortune.  They  had  not  discouraged  that 
belief.  It  was  no  one's  business  but  theirs  and  their 

150 


MARY-'GUSTA 

respect  and  affection  for  Marcellus  Hall  had  prevented 
the  disclosure  of  the  latter's  poverty.  That  secret  not 
even  Mary-'Gusta  knew;  she,  too,  believed  that  the 
money  which  paid  for  her  clothes  and  board  and  all 
the  rest  was  her  own.  Her  uncles  had  helped  her  to 
think  so. 

So  when  their  visitor  asked  the  pointed  question  Zoeth 
looked  at  Shadrach  and  the  latter  shook  his  head. 

"Yup,"  he  answered,  brusquely,  "it's  true  enough,  I 
cal'late.  Marcellus  left  her  all  he  had.  But — but  look 
here,  Mr.  Keith.  Do  I  understand  you  to  advise  us  to 
send  Mary-'Gusta  away — to  school — for  two  years? 
Jumpin'  fire!  How — how  could  we?  She — why,  what 
would  we  do  without  her?" 

"It  would  be  harder  for  you  here  in  the  store,  of 
course." 

"The  store !  Tain't  the  store  I'm  thinkin'  about ;  it's 
me  and  Zoeth.  What'll  we  do  without  her?  Why,  she 
— why,  no  daughter  could  mean  more  to  us  than  that 
girl  does,  and  if  Zoeth  and  me  was  her  own — er — mother 
and  father  we  couldn't  think  more  of  her.  We'd  be 
adrift  and  out  of  sight  of  land  if  Mary-'Gusta  went 
away.  No,  no,  we  couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"Not  even  for  her  sake?  She's  worth  a  pretty  big 
sacrifice,  a  girl  like  that." 

A  long  discussion  followed,  a  discussion  interrupted 
by  the  arrival  of  occasional  customers  but  resumed  as 
soon  as  each  of  these  individuals  departed.  Zoeth  asked 
a  question. 

"This — this  Miss — er — What's-her-name's  school  you're 
talkin'  about,"  he  asked,  "a  reg'Iar  boardin'  school, 
is  it?" 

"Yes,  but  there  are  day  pupils.  It  was  my  idea,  pro 
vided  you  two  were  willing  to  listen  to  my  suggestion 


MARY-'GUSTA 

at  all,  to  suggest  that  Mary  attend  as  a  day  pupil.  She 
might  live  near  the  school  instead  of  at  it.  That  would 
be  much  less  expensive." 

"Um-hm,"  mused  Shadrach,  "but — but  she'd  have  to 
live  somewheres,  and  I  for  one  would  want  to  be  mighty 
particular  what  sort  of  a  place  she  lived  at." 

"Naturally.  Well,  I  have  thought  of  that,  too,  and 
here  is  suggestion  number  three:  I  have  a  cousin — a 
cousin  of  my  first  wife's — who  lives  on  Pinckney  Street, 
which  is  not  far  from  the  Misses  Cabot's  school.  This 
cousin — Mrs.  Wyeth  is  her  name — is  a  widow  and  she 
hasn't  too  much  money.  She  doesn't  keep  a  boarding 
house  exactly,  but  she  has  been  known  to  take  a  few 
of  what  she  calls  'paying  guests.'  She's  very  Bostonian 
and  very  particular  concerning  the  references  and  fam 
ily  connections  of  those  guests,  but  I  think  I  could  man 
age  that.  If  your  niece  were  placed  in  her  care  she 
would  have  a  real  home  and  meet  only  the  sort  of  people 
you  would  wish  her  to  meet." 

He  might  have  added  that  Mrs.  Wyeth,  being  under 
many  obligations,  pecuniary  and  otherwise,  to  her 
wealthy  Chicago  relative,  would  need  only  a  hint  from 
him  to  give  Mary-'Gusta  the  care  and  attention  of  a 
parent,  a  very  particular,  Boston  first-family  parent. 
But,  unlike  his  present  wife,  he  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  referring  to  his  charities,  so  he  kept  this  information 
to  himself. 

Zoeth  sighed.  "I  declare,"  he  said,  "you're  mighty 
kind  in  all  this,  Mr.  Keith.  I  know  that  you're  sartin 
this  goin'  away  to  school  would  do  Mary-'Gusta  a  sight 
of  good.  But — but  I  swan  I — I  can't  hardly  bear  to 
think  of  our  lettin'  her  go  away  from  us." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  that.  Just  think  it  over  and  we'll 
have  another  talk  later." 

152 


CHAPTER  X 

MR.  KEITH  and  the  Captain  had  that  later  talk — 
several  talks,  in  fact — and  a  week  after  their 
first  one  Captain  Shadrach  suddenly  announced 
that  he  was  cal'latin'  to  run  up  to  Boston  just  for  a  day 
on  business  and  that  Mary-'Gusta  had  better  go  along' 
with  him  for  company.  Zoeth  could  tend  store  and  get 
along  all  right  until  they  returned.  The  girl  was  not  so 
certain  of  the  getting  along  all  right,  but  Mr.  Hamilton  as 
well  as  the  Captain  insisted,  so  she  consented  at  last. 
The  Boston  trip  was  not  exactly  a  novelty  to  her — she 
had  visited  the  city  a  number  of  times  during  the  past 
few  years — but  a  holiday  with  Uncle  Shad  was  always 
good  fun. 

They  took  the  early  morning  train  and  reached  Bos 
ton  about  ten  o'clock.  Shadrach's  business  in  the  city 
seemed  to  be  of  a  rather  vague  nature  this  time.  They 
called  at  the  offices  of  two  or  three  of  his  old  friends 
— ship-chandlers  and  marine  outfitters  on  Commercial 
Street  and  Atlantic  Avenue — and  then  the  Captain,  look 
ing  at  his  watch,  announced  that  it  was  pretty  nigh 
noontime  and  he  cal'lated  they  had  better  be  cruisin'  up 
towards  Pinckney  Street.  "Got  an  errand  up  in  that 
latitude,"  he  added. 

Pinckney  Street  was  on  the  hill  in  the  rear  of  the 
Common  and  the  State  House  and  was  narrow  and 
crooked  and  old-fashioned. 

"What  in  the  world  are  we  doing  up  here?"  queried 
Mary-'Gusta.  "There  aren't  any  wholesale  houses  here, 

153 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I'm  sure.     Haven't  you  made  a  mistake,  Uncle  Shad  ?" 

Shadrach,  who  had  been  consulting  a  page  of  his 
pocket  memorandum  book,  replied  that  he  cal'lated  he'd 
got  his  bearin's,  and,  to  the  girl's  astonishment,  stopped 
before  a  brick  dwelling  with  a  colonial  doorway  and  a 
white  stone  step  which  actually  shone  from  scrubbing, 
and  rang  the  bell. 

The  maid  who  answered  the  bell  wore  a  white  apron 
which  crackled  with  starch.  She  looked  as  if  she  too 
had,  like  the  step,  been  scrubbed  a  few  minutes  be 
fore. 

"This  is  No.  ,  ain't  it?"  inquired  the  Captain. 

"Humph!  I  thought  so.  I  ain't  so  much  of  a  wreck 
yet  but  that  I  can  navigate  Boston  without  a  pilot.  Is 
Mr.  Keith  in?" 

The  maid,  who  had  received  the  pilot  statement  with 
uncomprehending  astonishment,  looked  relieved. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Keith's  here.  Are  you 
the  ones  he's  expectin'?  Walk  in,  please." 

They  entered  the  house.  It  was  as  spotlessly  tidy 
within  as  without.  The  maid  ushered  them  into  a  parlor 
where  old  mahogany  and  old  family  portraits  in  oil  were 
very  much  in  evidence. 

"Sit  down,  please,"  she  said.  "I'll  tell  Mr.  Keith 
you're  here." 

She  left  the  room.  Mary-'Gusta  turned  to  the  Cap 
tain  in  amazed  agitation. 

"Uncle  Shad,"  she  demanded,  "why  on  earth  did  you 
come  here  to  see  Mr.  Keith?  Couldn't  you  have  seen 
him  at  South  Harniss  ?" 

Shadrach  shook  his  head.  "Not  today  I  couldn't,"  he 
said.  "He's  up  here  today." 

"But  what  do  you  want  to  see  him  for?" 

"Business,  business,  Mary-'Gusta.  Mr.  Keith  and  me 
154 


MARY-'GUSTA 

are  tryin'  to  do  a  little  stroke  of  business  together.  We've 
got  a  hen  on,  as  the  feller  said.  Say,  this  is  kind  of  a 
swell  house,  ain't  it?  And  clean — my  soul!  Judas! 
did  I  move  this  chair  out  of  place?  I  didn't  mean  to. 
Looks  as  if  it  had  set  right  in  that  one  spot  for  a  hun 
dred  years." 

Keith  entered  at  that  moment,  followed  by  an  elderly 
lady  whose  gown  was  almost  as  old-fashioned  as  the 
furniture.  She  was  a  rather  thin  person  but  her  face, 
although  sharp,  was  not  unkind  in  expression  and  her 
plainly  arranged  hair  was  white.  Mary-'Gusta  liked  her 
looks ;  she  guessed  that  she  might  be  very  nice  indeed  to 
people  she  knew  and  fancied ;  also  that  she  would  make 
certain  of  knowing  them  first. 

"Hello,  Captain  Gould,"  hailed  Keith.  "Glad  to  see 
you.  Found  the  place  all  right,  I  see." 

"Yes — yes,  I  found  it,  Mr.  Keith." 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't  have  any  difficulty.  Mary, 
how  do  you  do?" 

Mary-'Gusta  and  Mr.  Keith  shook  hands. 

"Captain,"  said  Keith,  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to  my 
cousin,  Mrs.  Wyeth." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  bowed  with  dignity. 

"How  do  you  do,  Captain  Gould,"  she  said. 

"Why — why,  I'm  pretty  smart,  thank  you,  ma'am," 
stammered  Shadrach,  rather  embarrassed  at  all  this  cere 
mony.  "Pleased  to  meet  you,  ma'am." 

"And  this  young  lady,"  went  on  Keith,  "is  Miss  Mary 
Lathrop.  Miss  Lathrop,  this  lady  is  Mrs.  Wyeth,  my 
cousin." 

Mary-'Gusta,  with  the  uneasy  feeling  that  Mrs. 
Wyeth's  gaze  had  been  fixed  upon  her  since  she  en 
tered  the  room,  bowed  but  said  nothing. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Keith,  heartily,  "we'll  have 
155 


MARY-'GUSTA 

luncheon.  You're  just  in  time  and  Mrs.  Wyeth  has 
been  expecting  you." 

The  Captain's  embarrassment  reached  its  height  at 
this  invitation. 

"No,  no,"  he  stammered,  "we — we  can't  do  that. 
Couldn't  think  of  it,  you  know.  We — we  ain't  a  mite 
hungry.  Had  breakfast  afore  we  left  home,  didn't  we, 
Mary-'Gusta?" 

Keith  laughed.  "Yes,  I  know,"  he  said ;  "and  you  left 
home  about  half -past  five.  I've  taken  that  early  train 
myself.  If  you're  not  hungry  you  ought  to  be  and 
luncheon  is  ready.  Emily — Mrs.  Wyeth — has  been  ex 
pecting  you.  She  will  be  disappointed  if  you  refuse." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  herself  put  in  a  word  here.  "Of  course 
they  won't  refuse,  John,"  she  said  with  decision.  "They 
must  be  famished.  Refuse !  The  idea !  Captain  Gould, 
Mr.  Keith  will  look  out  for  you;  your  niece  will  come 
with  me.  Luncheon  will  be  ready  in  five  minutes.  Come, 
Mary.  That's  your  name — Mary — isn't  it?  I'm  glad  to 
hear  it.  It's  plain  and  it's  sensible  and  I  like  it.  The 
employment  bureau  sent  me  a  maid  a  week  ago  and 
when  she  told  me  her  name  I  sent  her  back  again.  It 
was  Fiorina.  That  was  enough.  Mercy!  All  I  could 
think  of  was  a  breakfast  food.  Come,  Mary.  Now, 
John,  do  be  prompt." 

That  luncheon  took  its  place  in  Mary-'Gusta's  mem 
ory  beside  that  of  her  first  supper  in  the  house  at  South 
Harniss.  They  were  both  memorable  meals,  although 
alike  in  no  other  respects.  Mrs.  Wyeth  presided,  of 
course,  and  she  asked  the  blessing  and  poured  the  tea 
with  dignity  and  businesslike  dispatch.  The  cups  and 
saucers  were  of  thin,  transparent  China,  with  pictures 
of  mandarins  and  pagodas  upon  them.  They  looked 
old-fashioned  and  they  were ;  Mrs.  Wyeth's  grandfather 

156 


MARY-'GUSTA 

had  bought  them  himself  in  Hongkong  in  the  days 
when  he  commanded  a  clipper  ship  and  made  voyages  to 
the  Far  East.  The  teaspoons  were  queer  little  fiddle- 
patterned  affairs;  they  were  made  by  an  ancestor  who 
was  a  silversmith  with  a  shop  on  Cornhill  before  Gen 
eral  Gage's  army  was  quartered  in  Boston.  And  cups 
and  spoons  and  napkins  were  so  clean  that  it  seemed 
almost  sacrilegious  to  soil  them  by  use. 

Captain  Shadrach  did  not  soil  his  to  any  great  extent 
at  first.  The  Captain  was  plainly  overawed  by  the  gen 
teel  elegance  of  his  surrounding  and  the  manner  of  his 
hostess.  But  Mr.  Keith  was  very  much  at  ease  and 
full  of  funA  and,  after  a  time,  a  little  of  Shadrach's 
self-consciousness  disappeared.  When  he  learned  that 
grandfather  Wyeth  had  been  a  seafaring  man  he  came 
out  of  his  shell  sufficiently  to  narrate,  at  Keith's  re 
quest,  one  of  his  own  experiences  in  Hongkong,  but 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  yarn  he  never  forgot  to  address 
his  hostess  as  "ma'am"  and  he  did  not  say  "Jumpin' 
Judas"  once. 

After  luncheon  Mr.  Keith  and  the  Captain  left  the 
house  together.  "Coin'  to  attend  to  that  little  mite  of 
business  I  spoke  to  you  about,  Mary-'Gusta,"  explained 
Shadrach,  confidentially.  "We'll  be  back  pretty  soon. 
I  cal'late  maybe  you'd  better  wait  here,  that  is,"  with 
a  glance  at  Mrs.  Wyeth,  "if  it'll  be  all  right  for  you 
to." 

"Of  course  it  will  be  all  right,"  declared  Mrs.  Wyeth 
promptly.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  have  her." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am.  If  she  won't  be  in  the  wray  I " 

"If  she  were  likely  to  be  in  the  way  I  should  say  so. 
She  won't  be." 

"Yes — er — yes,  ma'am,"  stammered  Shadrach. 
"Thank  you,  ma'am." 

157 


MARY-'GUSTA 

When  he  and  Mr.  Keith  were  out  of  the  house  he 
drew  a  long  breath. 

"Judas!"  he  observed,  feelingly.  "Say,  that  cousin 
of  yours  don't  waste  any  words,  does  she?  When  it 
comes  to  speakin'  what's  in  her  mind  she  don't  fool 
around  none.  She's  as  right  up  and  down  as  a  schooner's 
fo'mast." 

Keith  laughed  heartily.  "Emily  is  blunt  and  out 
spoken,"  he  said.  "She  prides  herself  on  that.  But  she 
is  as  square  as  a  brick.  She  never  says  one  thing  to 
your  face  and  another  behind  your  back." 

"No,  I— I  judge  that's  so.  Well,  that's  all  right;  I 
ain't  got  any  objections  to  that  way  of  talkin'  myself. 
But  say,  if  every  woman  was  like  her  there  wouldn't 
be  many  sewin'  circles,  would  there  ?  The  average  sewin' 
circle  meetin'  is  one  part  sew  and  three  parts  what  So- 
and-so  said." 

When  the  little  mite  of  business  had  been  transacted 
and  the  pair  returned  to  the  Wyeth  house  they  found 
Mrs.  Wyeth  and  Mary-'Gusta  awaiting  them  in  the  par 
lor.  The  girl  had  the  feeling  that  she  had  been  un 
dergoing  a  rather  vigorous  cross-examination.  Mrs. 
Wyeth  had  not  talked  a  great  deal  herself  and  her  man 
ner,  though  brusque  and  matter  of  fact,  was  kind; 
but  she  had  asked  questions  about  Mary-'Gusta's  home 
life,  about  Captain  Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  about  school 
and  friends  and  acquaintances.  And  her  comments,  when 
she  made  any,  were  direct  and  to  the  point. 

She  and  Mr.  Keith  exchanged  looks  when  the  latter 
entered  the  room.  Keith  raised  his  eyebrows  inquir 
ingly.  She  nodded  as  if  giving  emphatic  assent  to  his 
unspoken  question. 

Shadrach  and  Mary-'Gusta  left  the  house  soon  after 
ward.  While  the  Captain  and  Mr.  Keith  were  whisper- 

158 


MARY-'GUSTA 

ing  together  in  the  hall,  Mrs.  Wyeth  bade  the  girl 
good-by. 

"I  like  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady.  "You  seem 
to  be  a  sweet,  sensible  girl,  and  I  don't  meet  as  many 
of  that  kind  nowadays  as  I  could  wish.  I  am  sure  we 
shall  be  good  friends." 

"And  what  did  she  mean  by  that?"  demanded  Mary- 
'Gusta,  as  she  and  the  Captain  walked  along  Pinckney 
Street  together.  "Why  should  we  be  good  friends? 
Probably  I'll  never  meet  her  again." 

Shadrach  smiled.  "Oh,  you  can't  always  tell,"  he 
said.  "Sometimes  you  meet  folks  oftener'n  you  think 
in  this  world." 

Mary-'Gusta  looked  at  him.  "Uncle  Shad,"  she  said, 
"what  does  all  this  mean,  anyway?  Why  did  you  go 
to  her  house?  And  what  was  the  mysterious  business 
of  yours  with  Mr.  Keith?" 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "We've  got  a  hen  on, 
same  as  I  told  you,"  he  declared.  "When  it's  time  for 
the  critter  to  come  off  the  nest  you'll  see  what's  been 
hatched  same  as  the  rest  of  us.  How'd  you  like  that 
Mrs.  Wyeth?  Had  a  pretty  sharp  edge  on  her  tongue, 
didn't  she?" 

Mary-'Gusta  considered.  "Yes,"  she  answered;  "she 
was  outspoken  and  blunt,  of  course.  But  she  is  a  lady — 
a  real  lady,  I  think — and  I'm  sure  I  should  like  her 
very  much  when  I  knew  her  better.  I  think,  though, 
that  she  would  expect  a  person  to  behave — behave  in  her 
way,  I  mean." 

"Judas!  I  should  say  so.  Don't  talk!  I  ain't  felt 
so  much  as  if  I  was  keepin'  my  toes  on  a  chalk  mark 
since  I  went  to  school.  I  don't  know  what  her  hus 
band  died  of,  but  I'll  bet  'twasn't  curvature  of  the  spine. 
If  he  didn't  stand  up  straight  'twasn't  his  wife's  fault." 

<59 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary-'Gusta's  curiosity  concerning  the  mysterious 
business  which  had  brought  them  to  the  city  became 
greater  than  ever  before  it  was  time  to  take  the  train 
for  home.  Apparently  all  of  that  business,  whatever  it 
might  be,  had  been  transacted  when  her  uncle  and  Mr. 
Keith  took  their  short  walk  together  after  luncheon. 
Captain  Shadrach  seemed  to  consider  his  Boston  errand 
done  and  the  pair  spent  half  of  the  hour  before  train 
time  wandering  along  Tremont  and  Washington  Streets 
looking  into  shop  windows,  and  the  other  half  in  the 
waiting  room  of  the  South  Station. 

Great  and  growing  as  was  her  curiosity,  the  girl 
asked  no  more  questions.  She  was  determined  not  to 
ask  them.  And  the  Captain,  neither  while  in  the  city  nor 
during  the  homeward  journey,  referred  to  the  "hen"  in 
which  he  and  his  friend  from  Chicago  were  mutually 
interested.  It  was  not  until  nine  o'clock  that  evening, 
when  supper  was  over  and  Zoeth,  having  locked  up 
the  store,  was  with  them  in  the  sitting-room,  that  the 
hitherto  secretive  fowl  came  off  the  nest. 

Then  Shadrach,  having  given  his  partner  a  look  and 
received  one  in  return,  cleared  his  throat  and  spoke. 

"Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  "me  and  your  Uncle  Zoeth 
have  got  some  news  for  you.  I  cal'late  you've  been 
wonderin'  a  little  mite  what  that  business  of  Mr.  Keith's 
and  mine  was,  ain't  you?" 

Mary-'Gusta  smiled.  "I  have  wondered — just  a  lit 
tle,"  she  observed,  with  mild  sarcasm. 

"Yes — yes,  I  ain't  surprised.  Well,  the  business  is 
done  and  it's  settled,  and  it's  about  you." 

"About  me?  Why,  Uncle  Shad!  How  can  it  be 
about  me  ?" 

"  'Cause  it  can  and  it  is,  that's  why.  Mary-'Gusta, 
me  and  Zoeth  have  been  thinkin'  about  you  a  good  deal 

160 


MARY-'GUSTA 

lately  and  we've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we  ain't 
treated  you  just  right." 

"Haven't  treated  me  right?    You?" 

""Yes,  us.  You're  a  good  girl  and  a  smart  girl — the 
smartest  and  best  girl  there  is  in  this  town.  A  girl 
like  that  ought  to  do  somethin'  better'n  than  stay  here 
in  South  Harniss  and  keep  store.  Keepin'  store's  all 
right  for  old  hulks  like  Zoeth  Hamilton  and  Shad  Gould, 
but  you  ain't  an  old  hulk ;  you're  a  young  craft  right  off 
the  ways  and  you  ought  to  have  a  chance  to  cruise  in 
the  best  water  there  is." 

"Uncle  Shad,  what  are  you  talking  about?  Cruise 
in  the  best  water?" 

"That's  what  I  said.  You  ought  to  mix  with  the 
best  folks  and  get  a  fine  education  and  meet  somebody 
besides  drummers  and — and  Sol  Higgins's  son.  Selling 
coffins  may  be  a  good  job,  I  don't  say  'tain't;  somebody's 
got  to  do  it  and  we'll  all  have  to  invest  in  that  kind  of 
— er — furniture  sometime  or  'nother.  And  Dan  Higgins 
is  a  good  enough  boy,  too.  But  he  ain't  your  kind." 

"My  kind!  Uncle  Shad,  what  in  the  world  have  I 
got  to  do  with  Dan  Higgins  and  coffins — and  all  the  rest 
of  it?" 

"Nothin',  nothin'  at  all.  That's  what  I'm  tryin'  to 
tell  you  if  you'll  give  me  a  chance.  Mary-'Gusta,  your 
Uncle  Zoeth  and  I  have  decided  that  you  must  go  to 
school  up  to  Boston,  at  the  Misses  Cabot's  school  there. 
You'll  board  along  with  that  Mrs.  Wyeth,  the  one  we 
met  today.  She's  a  good  woman,  I  cal'late,  though  she 
is  so  everlastin'  straight  up  and  down.  You'll  board 
there  and  you'll  go  to  school  to  those  Cabot  women. 
And " 

But  Mary-'Gusta  interrupted.  The  hen  was  off  the 
nest  now,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  and  of  all  un- 

161 


MARY-'GUSTA 

expected  and  impossible  hatchings  hers  was  the  most 
complete.  The  absurdity  of  the  idea,  to  the  girl's  mind, 
overshadowed  even  the  surprise  of  it. 

"What?"  she  said.    "Uncle  Shad,  what ?    Do  you 

mean  that  you  and  Uncle  Zoeth  have  been  in  conspiracy 
to  send  me  away  to  school?  To  send  me  away  to 
Boston  ?" 

Shadrach  nodded. 

"No  conspiracy  about  it,"  he  declared.  "Me  and 
Zoeth  and  Mr.  Keith,  we " 

"Mr.  Keith?  Yes,  yes,  I  see.  It  was  Mr.  Keith  who 
put  the  idea  in  your  head.  How  perfectly  silly!" 

"Silly?     Why  is  it  silly?" 

"Because  it  is.    It's  ridiculous." 

"No,  it  ain't,  it's  common  sense.  Other  girls  go  to 
city  fmishin'  schools,  don't  they?  That  Irene  Mullet's 
just  gone,  for  one.  Don't  you  think  we  figger  to  do 
as  much  for  our  girl  as  Becky  Mullet  can  do  for  hers? 
Jumpin'  fire!  If  you  ain't  worth  a  hogshead  of  girls 
like  Irene  Mullet  then  I  miss  my  guess." 

"Hush,  Uncle  Shad;  what  difference  does  that  make?" 

And  now  Zoeth  put  in  a  word.  "Mary-'Gusta,"  he 
said,  "you  know  what  a  good  school  like  the  one  Shad's 
been  speakin'  of  can  do  for  a  girl.  I  know  you  know  it. 
Now,  be  right  down  honest;  wouldn't  you  like  to  have 
a  couple  of  years,  say,  at  a  school  like  that,  if  you  could 
have  'em  just  as  well  as  not?  Didn't  you  say  not  more'n 
a  fortni't  ago  that  you  was  glad  Irene  Mullet  was  goin' 
to  have  such  a  chance  to  improve  herself?" 

Mary-'Gusta  had  said  that  very  thing;  she  could  not 
truthfully  deny  it. 

"Of  course  I  did,"  she  answered.  "And  I  am  glad. 
But  Irene's  case  and  mine  are  different.  Irene  isn't 

needed  at  home.    I  am,  and " 

162 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Shadrach  broke  in.  "Ah,  ha!  Ah,  ha!  Zoeth,"  he 
crowed,  triumphantly.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  she'd  say  that  ?  I 
knew  she'd  say  she  wouldn't  go  'cause  she'd  think  she'd 
ought  to  stay  here  and  look  out  for  us.  Well,  Mary- 
'Gusta,  you  listen  to  me.  Zoeth  and  I  are  your  guard 
ians,  lawfully  appointed.  We're  your  bosses,  young  lady, 
for  a  spell  yet.  And  you're  goin'  to  do  as  we  say." 

"But " 

"There  ain't  any  'buts.'  The  'buts'  are  all  past  and 
gone.  Mr.  Keith  has  arranged  for  you  to  board  and 
room  along  with  Mrs.  Wyeth  and  I've  arranged  for  your 
schoolin'  at  the  Cabot  place.  Yes,  and  I've  done  more'n 
that:  I  paid  for  your  first  year's  schoolin'  this  very 
afternoon.  So  there!  That's  ended." 

It  was  not  ended,  of  course.  Mary-'Gusta  went  to 
her  room  that  night  declaring  she  would  not  leave  her 
uncles  to  attend  any  finishing  school.  They  went  to 
theirs  vowing  that  she  should.  The  real  end  came  the 
next  day  when  Zoeth  put  the  subject  before  her  in  a 
new  light  by  saying : 

"Look  here,  Mary-'Gusta;  just  listen  to  me  a  minute 
and  think.  Suppose  the  boot  was  on  t'other  foot: 
suppose  you  wanted  us  to  do  somethin'  to  please  you, 
you'd  expect  us  to  do  it,  wouldn't  you?  Anyhow,  you 
know  mighty  well  we  would  do  it.  Now  we  want  you 
to  do  this  to  please  us.  We've  set  our  hearts  on  it." 

Mary-'Gusta  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  more.  The 
partners  watched  her  anxiously.  Then  she  asked  an 
unusual  question,  one  concerning  her  own  financial 
status. 

"Can  I  afford  it?"  she  asked.  "Have  I  money  enough 
of  my  own?" 

Zoeth  looked  troubled.  Shadrach,  however,  answered 
promptly  and  diplomatically. 

163 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Haven't  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "that  Zoeth  and  me 
are  your  guardians?  And  didn't  I  say  we'd  gone  into 
the  thing  careful  and  deliberate?  And  didn't  I  pay  your 
first  year's  schoolin'  yesterday?  Don't  that  alone  show 
what  we  think  about  the  money.  Be  still,  Zoeth;  that's 
enough.  Well,  Mary-'Gusta  ?" 

Mary-'Gusta  considered  a  moment  longer.  Then  she 
rose  and,  crossing  the  room,  gave  them  each  a  kiss. 

"I'll  go,"  she  said,  simply.  "I'll  go  because  I  think 
you  mean  it  and  that  it  will  please  you.  For  that  reason 
and  no  other  I'll  go." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  Misses  Cabot's  school  >was  to  open  on  the 
fifteenth  of  September  and,  on  the  morning  of 
the  fourteenth,  Mary-'Gusta  bade  her  guardians 
good-by  on  the  platform  of  the  South  Harniss  railway 
station.     Shadrach  had  intended  going  to  Boston  with 
her,  but  she  had  firmly  insisted  on  going  alone. 

"I  must  get  used  to  being  away  from  you  both,"  she 
said,  "and  you  must  get  used  to  having  me  go.  It  will 
be  best  for  all  of  us  to  say  good-by  here.  It  won't  be 
for  very  long;  I'll  be  home  at  Christmas,  you  know." 

The  three  weeks  prior  to  the  fateful  fourteenth  had 
been  crowded  with  activities.  Twice  the  girl  and  Cap 
tain  Shadrach  had  journeyed  to  Boston,  where  in  com 
pany  with  Mrs.  Wyeth,  whose  services  had  been  volun 
teered  in  a  crisp  but  kindly  note,  they  visited  shops  and 
selected  and  purchased — that  is,  the  feminine  members 
of  the  party  selected  and  the  Captain  paid  for — a  suit 
and  waists  and  hats  and  other  things  which  it  appeared 
were  necessary  for  the  wardrobe  of  a  young  lady  at 
finishing  school.  Shadrach  would  have  bought  lav 
ishly,  but  Mrs.  Wyeth's  common  sense  guided  the  se 
lections  and  Mary-'Gusta  was  very  particular  as  to  price. 
Shadrach,  at  the  beginning,  made  a  few  suggestions  con 
cerning  colors  and  styles,  but  the  suggestions  were  dis 
regarded.  The  Captain's  taste  in  colors  was  not  lim 
ited  ;  he  fancied  almost  any  hue,  provided  it  was  bright 
enough.  His  ward  would  have  looked  like  an  animated 
crazy  quilt  if  he  had  had  his  way. 

165 


MARY-'GUSTA 

He  grumbled  a  little  as  they  journeyed  back  to  South 
Harniss. 

"She  may  be  all  right,  that  Wyeth  woman,"  he  said, 
"but  she's  too  everlastin'  sober-sided  to  suit  me.  Take 
that  hat  you  and  she  bought;  why,  'twas  as  plain,  and 
hadn't  no  more  fuss  and  feathers  than  a  minister's  wife's 
bonnet.  You  ain't  an  old  maid;  no,  nor  a  Boston  first- 
family  widow,  neither.  Now,  the  hat  /  liked — the  yellow 
and  blue  one — had  some  get-up-and-git.  If  you  wore 
that  out  on  Tremont  Street  folks  would  turn  around 
and  look  at  you." 

Mary-'Gusta  laughed  and  squeezed  his  hand.  "You 
silly  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "don't  you  know  that  is 
exactly  what  I  don't  want  them  to  do  ?" 

Shadrach  turned  his  gaze  in  her  direction.  She  was 
at  the  end  of  the  car  seat  next  to  the  window  and  against 
the  light  of  the  setting  sun  her  face  and  head  were 
silhouetted  in  dainty  profile.  The  Captain  sighed. 

"Well,"  he  said,  philosophically,  "I  don't  know's 
we  need  to  argue.  I  cal'late  they'll  look  some  as 
'tis." 

Her  parting  instructions  to  her  uncles  were  many  and 
diversified.  Zoeth  must  be  sure  and  change  to  his  heavy 
flannels  on  the  first  of  October.  He  must  not  forget 
rubbers  when  the  ground  was  damp,  and  an  umbrella 
when  it  rained.  If  he  caught  cold  there  was  the  medi 
cine  Doctor  Harley  had  prescribed.  He  must  not  sit  up 
after  ten  o'clock;  he  must  not  try  to  read  the  paper 
without  first  hunting  for  his  spectacles.  These  were  a 
few  of  his  orders.  Shadrach's  list  was  even  longer.  It 
included  going  to  church  every  other  Sunday:  keeping 
his  Sunday  shoes  blacked :  not  forgetting  to  change  his 
collar  every  morning:  to  get  his  hair  cut  at  least  once 
in  six  weeks:  not  to  eat  pie  just  before  going  to  bed, 

166 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"because  you  know  if  you  do,  you  always  have  the  night 
mare  and  groan  and  moan  and  wake  up  everyone  but 
yourself" :  not  to  say  "Jumpin'  "  or  "Creepin'  Judas"  any 
of tcner  than  he  could  help :  to  be  sure  and  not  cut  prices 
in  the  store  just  because  a  customer  asked  him  to  do 
so — and  goodness  knows  how  much  more. 

As  for  Isaiah  Chase,  his  list  was  so  lengthy  and  varied 
that  the  responsibility  quite  overwhelmed  him. 

"Gosh  t'mighty !"  exclaimed  Isaiah,  desperately.  "I'll 
never  be  able  to  live  up  to  all  them  sailin'  orders  and 
I  know  it.  I've  put  some  of  'em  down  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  but  I  ain't  even  got  them  straight,  and  as  for 
the  million  or  two  others — whew !  I'm  to  dust  every 
day,  and  sweep  every  other  day,  and  change  the  table 
cloth,  and  see  that  the  washin'  goes  when  it  ought  to, 
and  feed  the  horse  the  cat — no,  no,  feed  the  cat  oats — 
Oh,  consarn  it !  Feed  the  cat  and  the  horse  and  the  hens 
their  reg'lar  vittles  at  reg'lar  times  and — and — Oh,  my 
soul!  Yes,  and  let  alone  my  own  self  and  all  that's 
laid  onto  me,  I  must  keep  an  eye  on  Captain  Shad  and 
Zoeth  and  see  that  they  do  what's  been  laid  onto  them. 
I  swan  to  man!  I'm  a  hard-workin',  painstakin'  feller 
of  my  age,  but  I  ain't  as  young  as  I  used  to  be,  and  I'm 
human  and  not  a  walkin'  steam-engyne.  I'll  do  the  best 
I  can,  but — but  first  thing  you  know  I'll  be  drove  into 
heavin'  up  my  job.  Then  this  craft'll  be  on  its  beam 
ends,  I  bet  you!  They'll  appreciate  me  then,  when  it's 
too  late." 

The  farewells  at  the  railway  station  were  brief.  They 
were  very  hard  to  say  and  neither  the  partners  nor 
Mary-'Gusta  could  trust  themselves  to  talk  more  than 
was  necessary.  The  train  drew  up  beside  the  platform ; 
then  it  moved  on.  A  hand  waved  from  the  car  win 
dow;  Shadrach  and  Zoeth  waved  in  return.  The  rear 

167 


MARY-'GUSTA 

car  disappeared  around  the  curve  by  Solomon  Higgins' 
cranberry  shanty. 

Mr.  Hamilton  sighed  heavily. 

"She's  gone,  Shadrach,"  he  said.  "Mary-'Gusta's 
gone." 

Shadrach  echoed  the  sigh. 

"Yes,  she's  gone,"  he  agreed.  "I  feel  as  if  the  best 
part  of  you  and  me  had  gone  along  with  her.  Well, 
t'other  parts  have  got  to  go  back  to  the  store  and  wait 
on  customers,  I  presume  likely.  Heave  ahead  and  let's 
do  it.  Ah,  hum!  I  cal'late  we'd  ought  to  be  thankful 
we've  got  work  to  do,  Zoeth.  It'll  help  take  up  our 
minds.  There  are  goin'  to  be  lonesome  days  for  you 
and  me,  shipmate." 

There  were  lonely  days  for  Mary-'Gusta  also,  those  of 
that  first  month  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's  and  at  the  Misses 
Cabot's  school.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  re 
alized  what  it  meant  to  be  homesick.  But  in  the  letters 
which  she  wrote  to  her  uncles  not  a  trace  of  the  home 
sickness  was  permitted  to  show  and  little  by  little  its 
keenest  pangs  wore  away.  She,  too,  was  thankful  for 
work,  for  the  study  which  kept  her  from  thinking  of 
other  things. 

The  Misses  Cabot — their  Christian  names  were  Pris- 
cilla  and  Hortense — she  found  to  be  middle-aged  maiden 
ladies,  eminently  prim  and  proper,  and  the  educational 
establishment  over  which  they  presided  a  sort  of  Protes 
tant  nunnery  ruled  according  to  the  precepts  of  the  Con 
gregational  Church  and  the  New  England  aristocracy. 
Miss  Priscilla  was  tall  and  thin  and  her  favorite  author 
was  Emerson;  she  quoted  Emerson  extensively  and  was 
certain  that  real  literature  died  when  he  did.  Miss  Hor 
tense  was  younger,  plumper,  and  more  romantic.  She 
quoted  Longfellow  and  occasionally  Oliver  Wendell 

168 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Holmes,  although  she  admitted  she  considered  the  latter 
rather  too  frivolous  at  times.  Both  sisters  were  learned, 
dignified,  and  strict  disciplinarians.  Also,  in  the  eyes 
of  both  a  male  person  younger  than  forty-five  was 
labeled  "Danger — Keep  Away."  But  one  creature  of  the 
masculine  gender  taught  in  their  school;  he  was  white- 
haired  Doctor  Barnes,  professor  of  the  dead  languages. 
It  was  the  prevailing  opinion  among  the  scholars  that 
Doctor  Barnes,  when  at  home,  occupied  an  apartment 
in  the  Greek  Antiquity  section  of  the  Art  Museum,  where 
he  slept  and  ate  surrounded  by  the  statues  and  busts 
of  his  contemporaries. 

As  for  the  scholars  themselves,  there  were  about  forty 
of  them,  girls — or  young  ladies :  the  Misses  Cabot  invari 
ably  referred  to  and  addressed  them  as  "young  ladies" 
— from  Boston  and  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  even 
from  Chicago  and  as  far  south  as  Baltimore.  Almost 
all  were  the  daughters  of  well-to-do  parents,  almost  all 
had  their  homes  in  cities.  There  were  very  few  who, 
like  Mary-'Gusta,  had  lived  all  their  lives  in  the  coun 
try.  Some  were  pretty,  some  were  not ;  some  were  giddy 
and  giggly,  some  solemn  and  studious,  some  either  ac 
cording  to  mood;  some  were  inclined  to  be  snobbish, 
others  simple  and  "everyday."  In  short,  the  school 
was  like  almost  any  school  of  its  kind. 

Mary-'Gusta  entered  this  school  and,  doing  so,  ceased 
to  be  Mary-'Gusta,  becoming  Miss  Lathrop  to  her  in 
structors  and  Mary  to  her  intimates  among  the  schol 
ars.  And  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's  she  was  Mary  or  Miss 
Lathrop  or  Miss  Mary,  according  to  the  age,  length  of 
acquaintance,  or  station  of  the  person  addressing  her. 
But  she  always  thought  of  herself  as  Mary-'Gusta  and 
her  letters  written  to  Uncle  Shad  or  Uncle  Zoeth  were 
so  signed. 

169 


MARY-'GUSTA 

She  found,  after  the  hard  work  of  beginning,  that 
she  could  keep  abreast  of  her  class  in  studies  without  un 
due  exertion.  Also  she  found  that,  the  snobs  excepted, 
the  girls  at  the  Misses  Cabot's  school  were  inclined  to 
be  sociable  and  friendly.  She  made  no  bid  for  their 
friendship,  being  a  self-respecting  young  person  whose 
dislike  of  imitation  was  as  strong  as  ever,  but,  per 
haps  because  she  did  not  bid  or  imitate  but  continued 
to  be  simply  and  sincerely  herself,  friends  came  to  her. 
Most  of  these  friends  received  monthly  allowances  far 
greater  than  hers,  and  most  of  them  wore  more  ex 
pensive  gowns  and  in  greater  variety,  but  she  showed 
no  envy  nor  offered  apologies,  and  if  she  sometimes 
wished,  being  human,  that  her  wardrobe  was  a  trifle 
more  extensive  she  kept  that  wish  to  herself. 

Her  liking  for  Mrs.  Wyeth  grew  into  a  real  affection. 
And  the  prim  and  practical  matron  grew  more  and  more 
fond  of  her.  The  girl  came  to  be  considered,  and  al 
most  to  consider  herself,  one  of  the  family.  The  "fam 
ily"  consisted  of  Mrs.  Wyeth,  Mary,  Miss  Pease,  the 
other  "paying  guest,"  and  Maggie,  the  maid,  and  Nora, 
the  cook.  Miss  Pease  was  an  elderly  spinster  without 
near  relatives,  possessed  of  an  income  and  a  love  of 
travel  which  she  gratified  by  occasional  European  trips. 
She  and  her  closest  friend,  Mrs.  Wyeth,  disagreed  on 
many  subjects,  but  they  united  in  the  belief  that  Boston 
was  a  suburb  of  Paradise  and  that  William  Ellery  Chan- 
ning  was  the  greatest  of  religious  leaders.  They  at 
tended  the  Arlington  Street  Unitarian  Church,  and  Mary 
often  accompanied  them  there  for  Sunday  morning  or 
afternoon  service. 

The  conviction  of  the  Misses  Cabot  that  youthful  man 
hood  was  dangerous  and  to  be  shunned  like  the  plague 
Mary  soon  discovered  was  not  shared  by  the  majority  of 

170 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  young  ladies.  If  Miss  Priscilla  and  Miss  Hortense 
had  had  their  way  Harvard  University  and  the  Institute 
of  Technology  would  have  been  moved  forthwith  to  some 
remote  spot  like  the  North  Pole  or  San  Francisco.  There 
were  altogether  too  many  "cousins"  or  "sons  of  old 
family  friends"  calling  at  the  school  to  deliver  mes 
sages  from  parents  or  guardians  or  the  said  friends. 
These  messengers,  young  gentlemen  with  budding  mus 
taches  and  full-blown  raiment,  were  rigidly  inspected  and 
their  visits  carefully  chaperoned:  but  letters  came  and 
were  treasured  and  the  cheerful  inanity  of  their  con 
tents  imparted,  in  strict  secrecy,  to  bosom  friends  of 
the  recipients. 

Mary  received  no  such  letters.  No  cousins  or  fam 
ily  friends  called  to  deliver  messages  to  her.  No  pho 
tographs  of  young  fellows  in  lettered  sweaters  were 
hidden  among  her  belongings.  Her  friends  in  the  school 
thought  this  state  of  affairs  very  odd  and  they  some 
times  asked  pointed  questions. 

Miss  Barbara  Howe,  whose  home  was  in  Brookline 
and  whose  father  was  the  senior  partner  of  an  old  and 
well-known  firm  of  downtown  merchants,  was  the  lead 
ing  questioner.  She  liked  Mary  and  the  latter  liked  her. 
Barbara  was  pretty  and  full  of  spirits  and,  although 
she  was  the  only  child,  and  a  rather  spoiled  one,  in 
a  wealthy  family,  there  was  no  snobbishness  in  her 
make-up. 

"But  I  can't  see,"  she  declared,  "what  you  have  been 
doing  all  the  time.  Where  have  you  been  keeping  your 
self?  Don't  you  know  anybody?" 

Mary  smiled.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  "I  know  a  good 
many  people." 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  Don't  you  know  any  of 
the  fellows  at  Harvard,  or  Tech,  or  Yale,  or  anywhere? 

171 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I  know  dozens.    And  you  must  know  some.    You  know 
Sam  Keith;  you  said  you  did." 

Mary  admitted  that  she  knew  Sam  slightly. 

"Isn't  he  fun!  Sam  and  I  are  great  chums.  Doesn't 
he  dance  divinely!" 

"I  don't  know.     I  never  saw  him  dance." 

"Then  you've  missed  something.  Do  you  know  his 
friend,  the  one  on  the  football  team — Crawford  Smith, 
his  name  is — do  you  know  him?" 

Mary  nodded.    "I — I've  met  him,"  she  said. 

"You  have?    Don't  you  think  he  is  perfectly  splendid  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     Is  he?" 

"Of  course  he  is.  Haven't  you  read  about  him  in 
the  papers?  He  made  that  long  run  for  a  touchdown 
in  the  Yale  game.  Oh,  you  should  have  seen  it!  I 
couldn't  speak  for  two  days  after  that  game.  He  was 
just  as  cool  and  calm.  All  the  Yale  men  were  trying 
to  get  him  and  he  dodged — I  never  saw  anyone  so  cool 
and  who  kept  his  head  so  well." 

"I  thought  the  papers  spoke  most  of  the  way  he  kept 
his  feet." 

"Then  you  did  read  about  it!  Of  course  you  did! 
I'm  just  dying  to  know  him.  All  the  girls  are  crazy 
about  him.  Where  did  you  meet  him?  Tell  me!" 

Mary  smiled.  On  the  occasion  of  her  only  meeting 
with  Crawford  Smith  that  young  fellow  had  been  any 
thing  but  cool. 

"I  met  him  in  my  uncle's  store  at  South  Harniss,"  she 
said.  "It  was  three  years  ago." 

"And  you  haven't  seen  him  since?  He  is  a  great 
friend  of  Sam's.  And  Sam's  people  have  a  summer 
home  at  the  Cape.  Perhaps  you'll  meet  him  there  again." 

"Perhaps." 

"Goodness !    One  would  think  you  didn't  want  to." 
172 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Why,  I  don't  know  that  I  do,  particularly.  Why 
should  I?" 

"Why  should  you !  Mary  Lathrop,  I  do  think  you  are 
the  queerest  girl.  You  don't  talk  like  a  girl  at  all.  Some 
times  I  think  you  are  as  old  as — as  Prissy."  "Prissy" 
was  the  disrespectful  nickname  by  which  the  young 
ladies  referred,  behind  her  back,  to  Miss  Priscilla  Cabot. 

Mary  laughed.  "Not  quite,  I  hope,"  she  said.  "But 
I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  so  very  anxious  to  meet 
Crawford  Smith.  And  I'm  sure  he  isn't  anxious  to  meet 
me.  If  all  the  other  girls  are  crazy  about  him,  that 
ought  to  be  enough,  I  should  think." 

This  astonishing  profession  of  indifference  to  the  fas 
cination  of  the  football  hero,  indifference  which  Miss 
Barbara  declared  to  be  only  make-believe,  was  made  on 
a  Saturday.  The  next  day,  as  Mrs.  Wyeth  and  Mary 
were  on  their  way  home  from  church,  the  former  made 
an  announcement. 

"We  are  to  have  a  guest,  perhaps  guests,  at  dinner 
this  noon,"  she  said.  Sunday  dinner  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's 
was  served,  according  to  New  England  custom,  at  one 
o'clock. 

"Samuel,  Mr.  John  Keith's  son,  is  to  dine  with  us," 
continued  Mrs.  Wyeth.  "He  may  bring  a  college  friend 
with  him.  You  have  met  Samuel,  haven't  you, 
Mary?" 

Mary  said  that  she  had.  She  was  a  trifle  embar 
rassed  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  Sam  Keith  in  her 
new  surroundings.  At  home,  in  South  Harniss,  they  had 
met  many  times,  but  always  at  the  store.  He  was  pleas 
ant  and  jolly  and  she  liked  him  well  enough,  although 
she  had  refused  his  invitations  to  go  on  sailing  parties 
and  the  like.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  mother 
and  sister  would  not  have  approved  of  these  invita- 

173 


MARY-'GUSTA 

tions,  for  in  the  feminine  Keith  mind  there  was  a  great 
gulf  fixed  between  the  summer  resident  and  the  native. 
The  latter  was  to  be  helped  and  improved  but  not  en 
couraged  socially  beyond  a  certain  point.  Mary  sought 
neither  help  nor  improvement  of  that  kind.  Sam,  it 
is  true,  had  never  condescended  or  patronized,  but  he 
had  never  called  at  her  home  nor  had  she  been  asked 
to  visit  his. 

And  now  she  was  to  meet  him  in  a  house  where  she 
was  considered  one  of  the  family.  His  father  had  been 
influential  in  bringing  her  there.  Did  Sam  know  this 
and,  if  he  did,  what  influence  would  the  knowledge  have 
upon  his  manner  toward  her?  Would  he  be  lofty  and 
condescending  or,  on  the  other  hand,  would  he  pretend 
a  familiar  acquaintanceship  which  did  not  exist?  Alone 
in  her  room  she  considered  these  questions  and  then 
put  them  from  her  mind.  Whatever  his  manner  might 
be,  hers,  she  determined,  should  be  what  it  had  always 
been.  And  if  any  embarrassment  was  evident  to  others 
at  this  meeting  it  should  not  be  on  her  part. 

When  she  came  downstairs,  Mrs.  Wyeth  called  to  her 
to  come  into  the  parlor.  As  she  entered  the  room  two 
young  men  rose  from  the  chairs  beside  the  mahogany 
center  table.  One  of  these  young  men  was  Sam  Keith; 
she  had  expected  to  see  Sam,  of  course.  But  the  other 
— the  other  was  the  very  individual  in  whose  daring 
deeds  and  glorified  personality  she  had  expressed  a  com 
plete  lack  of  interest  only  the  day  before,  the  young 
fellow  whom  she  had  last  seen  racing  madly  across  the 
fields  in  the  rear  of  Hamilton  and  Company's  store  with 
the  larger  portion  of  a  sheet  of  sticky  fly  paper  attached 
to  his  white  flannels.  Mr.  Crawford  Smith  was  taller 
and  broader  than  on  that  memorable  occasion  but  she 
recognized  him  instantly. 

174 


MARY-'GUSTA 

It  was  evident  that  he  did  not  recognize  her.  Mrs. 
Wyeth  came  to  meet  her. 

"Mary,"  she  said,  "you  know  Samuel,  I  think.  You 
and  he  have  met  before.  Samuel,  will  you  introduce 
your  friend?" 

Sam  was  staring  at  Mary  with  eyes  which  expressed 
a  variety  of  emotions,  intense  surprise  the  most  promi 
nent.  He  was  in  a  state  which  Barbara  Howe  would 
have  described  as  "fussed,"  one  most  unusual  for  him. 
He  had  known  of  Mary's  presence  in  the  house;  after 
the  affair  was  settled  John  Keith  told  his  family  what 
he  had  done,  facing  with  serene  philosophy  his  wife's 
displeasure  and  prophecies  of  certain  regrets.  Sam  had 
vivid  and  pleasing  recollections  of  the  pretty  country 
girl  in  the  South  Harniss  store.  He  had  not  told  his 
college  friend  that  they  were  to  meet  her  that  day,  one 
reason  being  that  he  was  not  certain  they  would  meet, 
and  the  other  a  secret  misgiving  that  it  might  be  well  to 
wait  and  inspect  and  listen  before  boasting  of  previous 
acquaintanceship.  Sam's  mother  had  lectured  him  on 
the  subject  before  he  left  home.  "Don't  be  too  familiar, 
Sam,"  was  her  warning.  "You  may  be  sorry  if  you  do. 
The  girl  is  well  enough  here  in  South  Harniss,  where  she 
is  accustomed  to  her  surroundings,  but  in  Boston  she 
may  be  quite  out  of  place  and  impossible.  I  have  told 
your  father  so,  but  he  won't  listen,  of  course.  Don't  you 
be  foolish,  for  my  sake." 

But  here  was  no  green  country  girl.  The  self-pos 
sessed  young  woman  who  stood  before  him  looked  no 
more  out  of  place  and  impossible  in  Mrs.  Wyeth's  dig 
nified  and  aristocratic  parlor  than  she  had  in  the  store 
where  he  had  last  seen  her.  Her  gown  was  simple 
and  inexpensive  but  it  was  stylish  and  becoming.  And 
her  manner — well,  her  manner  was  distinctly  more  at  ease 

175 


MARY-'GUSTA 

than  his  at  that  moment.  Mary  had  been  but  eight  weeks 
among  the  Misses  Cabot's  young  ladies,  but  she  had  used 
her  eyes  and  her  brain  during  that  time ;  she  was  adapt 
able  and  had  learned  other  things  than  those  in  the 
curriculum.  Also,  she  was  prepared  for  this  meeting 
and  had  made  up  her  mind  to  show  no  embarrassment. 

So  the  usually  blase  Samuel  was  the  embarrassed 
party.  He  looked  and  stammered.  Mrs.  Wyeth  was 
surprised  and  shocked. 

"Samuel,"  she  said  sharply,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Why  don't  you  speak  and  not  stand  there  staring  ?" 

Sam,  with  an  effort,  recovered  some  of  his  self-pos 
session. 

"Was  I  staring?"  he  said.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Cousin 
Emily.  Er — How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lathrop?" 

Mrs.  Wyeth  sniffed. 

"Mercy!"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  your  acquaintance  as 
formal  as  that?  I  thought  you  knew  each  other.  The 
boys  and  girls  of  this  generation  are  beyond  me.  'Miss 
Lathrop,'  indeed!" 

Mary  smiled.  "Perhaps  he  didn't  expect  to  see  me 
here,  Mrs.  Wyeth,"  she  said.  "How  do  you  do,  Sam?" 

She  and  Sam  shook  hands.  Mrs.  Wyeth  asked  an 
other  question. 

"Didn't  you  know  Mary  was  with  me,  Samuel?"  she 
asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  Cousin  Emily,  I  knew.  I  knew  she  was 
here,  of  course.  But — but  I  didn't — by  George!"  with 
a  sudden  outburst  of  his  real  feelings,  "I  hardly  knew 
her,  though.  Really,  I  didn't." 

Mary  laughed.  "Have  I  grown  so  much  older  in  two 
months?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  you  haven't  changed  that  way.  I — I "  The 

young  man,  realizing  that  he  was  getting  into  deep 

176 


MARY-'GUSTA 

water,  seized  an  opportunity  to  scramble  out.  "Oh,  I 
forgot !"  he  exclaimed.  "Sorry,  Crawford.  Mary — Miss 
Lathrop,  I  want  to  present  my  friend,  Crawford  Smith. 
He's  my  roommate  at  college." 

Mary  and  Crawford  shook  hands. 

"I  have  met  Mr.  Smith,  too,  before,"  she  said. 

The  young  gentlemen,  both  of  them,  looked  astonished. 

"Have  you?"  cried  Sam.  "Oh,  I  say!  I  didn't  know 
that.  When  was  it?" 

His  friend,  too,  was  plainly  puzzled.  "I  hardly  think 
so,"  he  said.  "I  don't  believe  I  should  have  forgotten 
it.  I  don't  remember " 

"Don't  you  remember  coming  into  my  uncles'  store 
at  South  Harniss  with  Miss  Keith,  Sam's  sister?  You 
bought  some" — with  a  mischievous  twinkle — "some 
marshmallows,  among  other  things.  I  sold  them  to 
you." 

"You  ?  Great  Scott !  Are  you — why  that  girl's  name 
was — what  was  it?" 

"It  was  the  same  as  mine,  Mary  Augusta  Lathrop. 
But  in  South  Harniss  they  call  me  Mary-'Gusta." 

"That  was  it!  And  you  are  Mary-'Gusta?  Yes,  of 
course  you  are !  Well,  I  ought  to  be  ashamed,  I  suppose, 
but  I  didn't  recognize  you.  I  am  ashamed.  I  was  awfully 
obliged  to  you  that  day.  You  helped  me  out  of  a  scrape." 

Sam,  who  had  been  listening  with  increasing  curiosity, 
broke  in. 

"Say,  what's  all  this?"  he  demanded.  "When  was 
this,  Crawford?  What  scrape?  You  never  told  me." 

"And  you  didn't  tell  me  that  Miss  Lathrop  was  here. 
You  didn't  say  a  word  about  her." 

"Eh?  Didn't  I?  I  must  have  forgotten  to  mention 
it.  She — she  is  here,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  shook  her  head. 
177 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Samuel,  you're  perfectly  idiotic  today,"  she  declared. 
"Of  course  she  is  here;  anyone  with  eyes  can  see  she 
is.  She  is — ahem — visiting  me  and  she  is  attending  the 
Misses  Cabot's  school.  There!  Now,  Mr.  Smith  under 
stands,  I  hope.  And  dinner  is  ready.  Don't  any  of  you 
say  another  word  until  we  are  at  the  table.  My  father 
used  to  say  that  lukewarm  soup  was  the  worst  sort  of 
cold  reception  and  I  agree  with  him." 

During  dinner  Sam  was  tremendously  curious  to  dis 
cover  how  and  where  his  friend  and  Mary  had  met  and 
what  the  scrape  might  be  to  which  Crawford  had  re 
ferred.  But  his  curiosity  was  unsatisfied.  Mr.  Smith 
refused  to  tell  and  Mary  only  smiled  and  shook  her  head 
when  questioned. 

The  young  people  furnished  most  of  the  conversation 
during  the  meal.  The  recent  football  season  and  its 
triumphant  ending  were  discussed,  of  course,  and  the 
prospects  of  the  hockey  team  came  in  for  its  share. 
Sam,  it  appeared,  was  out  for  a  place  on  the  hockey 
squad. 

"You  must  see  some  of  the  games,  Mary,"  he  said. 
"I'll  get  tickets  for  you  and  Cousin  Emily.  You're 
crazy  about  sports,  aren't  you,  Cousin  Emily." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  regarded  him  through  her  eyeglasses. 

"I  imagine,"  she  observed,  "that  that  remark  is  in 
tended  as  a  joke.  I  saw  one  football  game  and  the 
spectacle  of  those  boys  trampling  each  other  to  death 
before  my  eyes,  and  of  you,  Samuel  Keith,  hopping  up 
and  down  shrieking,  'Tear  'em  up'  and  'Smash  'em'  was 
the  nearest  approach  to  insanity  I  ever  experienced. 
Since  that  time  I  have  regarded  Doctor  Eliot  as  Presi 
dent  Emeritus  of  an  asylum  and  not  a  university." 

Sam  was  hugely  delighted.  "That's  football,"  he 
declared.  "I  will  admit  that  no  one  but  lunatics  like 

178 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Crawford  here  play  football.  Hockey,  now,  is  different. 
7  play  hockey." 

Crawford  seemed  surprised. 

"Do  you?"  he  asked,  with  eager  interest.  "No  one 
has  ever  guessed  it,  not  even  the  coach.  You  shouldn't 
keep  it  a  secret  from  him,  Sam." 

Miss  Pease,  having  been  invited  out  that  day,  was  not 
present  at  dinner.  After  the  coffee  was  served  the  irre 
pressible  Sam  proposed  a  walk. 

"You  won't  care  to  go,  Cousin  Emily,"  he  said,  "but 
I'm  sure  Mary  will.  It  is  a  fine  afternoon  and  she  needs 
the  air.  Crawford  isn't  much  of  a  walker;  he  can  stay 
and  keep  Cousin  Emily  company.  We  won't  be  long." 

Before  Mary  could  decline  this  disinterested  invita 
tion  Mrs.  Wyeth  saved  her  the  trouble. 

"Thank  you,  Samuel,"  she  said,  crisply.  "Your  kind 
ness  is  appreciated,  particularly  by  Mr.  Smith  and  my 
self.  I  can  see  that  he  is  delighted  with  the  idea.  But 
Mary  and  I  are  going  to  the  afternoon  service  at  the 
Arlington  Street  church.  So  you  will  have  to  excuse  us." 

This  should  have  been  a  squelcher,  but  it  was  not. 
Sam  announced  that  he  and  Crawford  would  go  with 
them.  "We  were  thinking  of  going  to  church,  weren't 
we,  Crawford?  It  is  just  what  I  suggested,  you  re 
member." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  said  "Humph,"  and  that  was  all.  She  and 
Mary  went  to  their  rooms  to  get  ready.  Sam,  sur 
prised  at  the  unexpected  success  of  his  sudden  inspira 
tion  and  immensely  tickled,  chuckled  in  triumph.  But 
his  joy  was  materially  lessened  when  the  quartette  left 
the  house. 

"These  sidewalks  are  too  narrow  for  four,"  declared 
Mrs.  Wyeth.  "Samuel,  you  may  walk  with  me.  Mary, 
you  and  Mr.  Smith  must  keep  close  at  our  heels  and 

179 


MARY-'GUSTA 

walk  fast.  I  never  permit  myself  or  my  guests  to  be 
late  at  church." 

During  the  walk  Crawford  asked  a  number  of  ques 
tions.  How  long  had  his  companion  been  in  the  city? 
How  long  did  she  intend  staying?  Did  she  plan  re 
turning  to  the  school  for  another  year?  Where  would 
she  spend  the  Christmas  vacation?  Mary  said  she  was 
going  home,  to  South  Harniss,  for  the  holidays. 

"It's  a  bully  old  place,  Cape  Cod,"  declared  Craw 
ford.  "I  never  had  a  better  time  than  I  did  on  that  visit 
at  Sam's.  Wish  I  were  going  there  again  some  day." 

"Why  don't  you?"  asked  Mary. 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  "Orders  from  home," 
he  said.  "Father  insists  on  my  coming  home  to  him 
the  moment  the  term  closes.  I  made  that  visit  to  Sam's 
on  my  own  responsibility  and  I  got  fits  for  doing  it.  Dad 
seems  to  have  a  prejudice  against  the  East.  He  won't 
come  here  himself  and  he  doesn't  like  to  have  me  stay 
any  longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  When  I  wrote 
him  I  was  at  South  Harniss  he  telegraphed  me  to  come 
home  in  a  hurry.  He  is  Eastern  born  himself,  lived 
somewhere  this  way  when  he  was  young,  but  he  doesn't 
talk  about  it  and  has  more  prejudices  against  Eastern 
ways  and  Eastern  people  than  if  he'd  lived  all  his  life 
in  Carson  City.  Won't  even  come  on  to  see  me  play 
football.  I  doubt  if  he  comes  to  Commencement  next 
spring;  and  I  graduate,  too." 

"I  wonder  he  permitted  you  to  go  to  Harvard,"  said 
Mary. 

"He  had  to  permit  it.  I've  always  been  for  Harvard 
ever  since  I  thought  about  college.  Dad  was  all  for 
a  Western  university,  but  I  sat  back  in  the  stirrups  and 
pulled  for  Harvard  and  finally  he  gave  in.  He  generally 
gives  in  if  I  buck  hard  enough.  He's  a  bully  old  Dad 

180 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  we're  great  pals,  more  like  brothers  than  father 
and  son.  The  only  point  where  we  disagree  is  his  con 
founded  sectional  prejudice.  He  thinks  the  sun  not  only 
sets  in  the  West  but  rises  there." 

The  girl  learned  that  he  intended  entering  the  Har 
vard  Medical  School  in  the  fall. 

"I  had  to  fight  for  that,  too,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"I've  always  wanted  to  be  a  doctor  but  Dad  wouldn't 
give  in  for  ever  so  long.  He  is  interested  in  mining 
properties  there  at  home  and  it  was  his  idea  that  I 
should  come  in  with  him  when  I  finished  school.  But  I 
couldn't  see  it.  I  wanted  to  study  medicine.  Dad  says 
there  are  almost  as  many  starving  doctors  as  there  are 
down-at-the-heel  lawyers ;  if  I  go  in  with  him,  he  says, 
I  shall  have  what  is  practically  a  sure  thing  and  a  soft 
snap  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  That  doesn't  suit  me. 
I  want  to  work;  I  expect  to.  I  want  to  paddle  my  own 
canoe.  I  may  be  the  poorest  M.D.  that  ever  put  up  a 
sign,  but  I'm  going  to  put  that  sign  up  just  the  same. 
And  if  I  starve  I  shan't  ask  him  or  anyone  else  to 
feed  me." 

He  laughed  again  as  he  said  it,  but  there  was  a  de 
termined  ring  in  his  voice  and  a  square  set  to  his  chin 
which  Mary  noticed  and  liked.  He  meant  what  he  said, 
that  was  evident. 

"I  think  a  doctor's  profession  is  one  of  the  noblest 
and  finest  in  the  world,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  ?  Good  for  you !  So  do  I.  It  doesn't  bring 
in  the  dollars  as  fast  as  some  others,  but  it  does  seem 
a  man's  job  to  me.  The  big  specialists  make  a  lot  of 
money  too,  but  that  isn't  exactly  what  I  mean.  Some 
of  the  best  men  I've  met  were  just  country  doctors, 
working  night  and  day  in  all  sorts  of  weather  and  get 
ting  paid  or  not,  just  as  it  happened.  That  old  Doctor 

181 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Harley  down  in  your  town  is  one  of  that  kind,  I  think. 
I  saw  something  of  his  work  while  I  was  there." 

"Did  you?  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you  had  time 
for  that,  with  all  the  picnics  and  sailing  parties." 

"I  did,  though.  I  met  him  at  Sam's.  Mrs.  Keith 
had  a  cold  or  a  cough  or  something.  He  and  I  got 
to  talking  and  he  asked  me  to  come  and  see  him.  I 
went,  you  bet!  Went  out  with  him  on  some  of  his 
drives  while  he  made  his  calls,  you  know.  He  told 
me  a  lot  of  things.  He's  a  brick. 

"It's  queer,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment,  "but  I  felt 
really  at  home  down  there  in  that  little  place.  Seemed 
as  if  I  had  been  there  before  and — and — by  George, 
almost  as  if  I  belonged  there.  It  was  my  first  experi 
ence  on  and  around  salt  water,  but  that  seemed  natural, 
too.  And  the  people — I  mean  the  people  that  belong 
there,  not  the  summer  crowd — I  liked  them  immensely. 
Those  two  fine  old  cards  that  kept  the  store — Eh,  I  beg 
pardon;  they  are  relatives  of  yours,  aren't  they?  I 
forgot." 

"They  are  my  uncles/'  said  Mary,  simply.  "I  have 
lived  with  them  almost  all  my  life.  They  are  the  best 
men  in  the  world." 

"They  seemed  like  it.  I'd  like  to  know  them  better. 
Hello !  here's  that  confounded  church.  I've  enjoyed  this 
walk  ever  so  much.  Guess  I've  done  all  the  talking, 
though.  Hope  I  haven't  bored  you  to  death  gassing 
about  my  affairs." 

"No,  you  haven't.    I  enjoyed  it." 

"Did  you  really  ?  Yes,  I  guess  you  did  or  you  wouldn't 
say  so.  You  don't  act  like  a  girl  that  pretends.  By 
George!  It's  a  relief  to  have  someone  to  talk  to,  some 
one  that  understands  and  appreciates  what  a  fellow  is 
thinking  about  Most  girls  want  to  talk  football  and 

182 


MARY-'GUSTA 

dancing  and  all  that.  I  like  football  immensely  and 
dancing  too,  but  there  is  something  else  in  life.  Even 
Sam — he's  as  good  as  they  make  but  he  doesn't  care  to 
listen  to  anything  serious — that  is,  not  long." 

Mary  considered.  "I  enjoyed  listening,"  she  said, 
"and  I  was  glad  to  hear  you  liked  South  Harniss  and  my 
uncles." 

On  the  way  home,  after  the  service,  it  was  Sam  Keith 
who  escorted  Mary,  while  Mrs.  Wyeth  walked  with 
Mr.  Smith.  Sam's  conversation  was  not  burdened  with 
seriousness.  Hockey,  dances,  and  good  times  were  the 
subjects  he  dealt  with.  Was  his  companion  fond  of 
dancing?  Would  she  accompany  him  to  one  of  the  club 
dances  some  time?  They  were  great  fun.  Mrs.  Wyeth 
could  chaperon  them,  of  course. 

Mary  said  she  was  afraid  she  would  be  too  busy  to 
accept.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  knowing  what  she  did  of 
his  mother's  feelings,  she  would  have  accepted  no  in 
vitations  from  Sam  Keith  even  if  nothing  else  prevented 
her  doing  so. 

"My  studies  take  a  good  deal  of  my  time,"  she  said. 

Sam  laughed.  "You'll  get  over  that,"  he  declared. 
"I  studied  like  blue  blazes  my  freshman  year,  but  after 
that — I  should  worry.  Say,  I'm  mighty  glad  I  came  over 
here  today.  I'm  coming  again.  I'll  be  a  regular  boarder." 

The  young  men  said  good-by  at  the  Wyeth  door. 
Mrs.  Wyeth  did  not  ask  them  in,  although  the  persistent 
Samuel  threw  out  some  pointed  hints. 

Crawford  Smith  and  Mary  shook  hands. 

"I've  had  an  awfully  good  time,"  declared  the  for 
mer.  Then,  turning  to  Mrs.  Wyeth,  he  asked :  "May  I 
call  occasionally?" 

Mrs.  Wyeth's  answer  was,  as  usual,  frank  and  unmis 
takable. 

183 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you — 
occasionally." 

Crawford  turned  to  Mary. 

"May  I?"  he  asked. 

Mary  scarcely  knew  how  to  reply.  There  was  no 
real  reason  why  he  should  not  call ;  she  liked  him  so 
far.  His  frankness  and  earnestness  of  purpose  ap 
pealed  to  her.  And  yet  she  was  not  at  all  sure  that  it 
was  wise  to  continue  the  acquaintance.  In  her  mind  this 
coming  to  Boston  to  school  was  a  very  serious  matter. 
Her  uncles  had  sent  her  there  to  study;  they  needed 
her  at  home,  but  that  need  they  had  sacrificed  in  order 
that  she  might  study  and  improve.  Nothing  else,  friend 
ships  or  good  times  or  anything,  must  interfere  with  the 
purpose  with  which  she  had  accepted  the  sacrifice. 

So  she  hesitated. 

"May  I?"  repeated  Crawford. 

"Why,  I  don't  know.  I  imagine  I  shall  be  very  busy 
most  of  the  time." 

"That's  all  right.  If  you're  busy  you  can  send  word 
for  me  to  vamoose.  That  will  be  part  of  the  bargain. 
Good-by." 

Mrs.  Wyeth's  first  remark,  after  entering,  was  con 
cerning  Sam's  friend. 

"I  rather  like  that  young  person,"  she  said.  "Samuel 
idolizes  him,  of  course,  but  Samuel  would  worship  a 
hyena  if  it  played  football.  But  this  Smith  boy" — in  Mrs. 
Wyeth's  mind  any  male  under  thirty  was  a  boy — "seems 
to  have  some  common  sense  and  a  mind  of  his  own.  I 
don't  approve  of  his  name  nor  the  howling  wilderness 
he  comes  from,  but  he  can't  help  those  drawbacks,  I 
suppose.  However,  if  he  is  to  call  here  we  must  know 
something  about  him.  I  shall  make  inquiries." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  school  term  ended  on  a  Saturday  morning  in 
mid-December.     Mary's  trunk  was  packed  and 
ready,  and  she  and  it  reached  the  South  Station 
long  before  train  time.    She  was  going  home,  home  for 
the  holidays,  and  if  she  had  been  going  on  a  trip  around 
the  world  she  could  not  have  been  more  delighted  at  the 
prospect.    And  her  delight  and  anticipations  were  shared 
in  South  Harniss.     Her  uncles'  letters  for  the  past  fort 
night  had  contained  little  except  joyful  announcements  of 
preparations  for  her  coming. 

We  are  counting  the  minutes  [wrote  Zoeth].  The  first 
thing  Shadrach  does  every  morning  is  to  scratch  another  day 
off  the  calendar.  I  never  saw  him  so  worked  up  and  ex 
cited  and  I  calculate  I  ain't  much  different  myself.  I  try 
not  to  set  my  heart  on  things  of  this  world  more  than  I 
ought  to,  but  it  does  seem  as  if  I  couldn't  think  of  much 
else  but  our  girl's  coming  back  to  us.  I  am  not  going  to 
worry  the  way  Shadrach  does  about  your  getting  here  safe 
and  sound.  The  Lord's  been  mighty  good  to  us  and  I  am 
sure  He  will  fetch  you  to  our  door  all  right.  I  am  contented 
to  trust  you  in  His  hands. 

P.  S.    One  or  both  of  us  will  meet  you  at  the  depot. 

Captain  Shad's  epistle  was  more  worldly  but  not  more 
coherent. 

Be  sure  and  take  the  train  that  comes  right  on  through 
[he  wrote].  Don't  take  the  one  that  goes  to  Woods  Hole. 

185 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Zoeth  is  so  fidgety  and  nervous  for  fear  you  will  make 
a  mistake  that  he  keeps  me  on  pins  and  needles.  Isaiah 
ain't  much  better.  He  swept  out  the  setting-room  twice 
last  week  and  if  he  don't  roast  the  cat  instead  of  the  chicken 
he  is  calculating  to  kill,  it  will  be  a  mercy.  I  am  the  only 
one  aboard  the  ship  that  keeps  his  head  and  I  tell  them  not 
to  worry.  Be  sure  you  take  that  through  train.  And  look 
out  for  them  electric  cars,  if  you  come  to  the  depot  in  one. 
Better  settle  on  the  one  you  are  going  to  take  and  then  take 
the  one  ahead  of  it  so  as  to  be  sure  and  not  be  late.  Your 
train  leaves  the  dock  at  quarter-past  four.  The  Woods  Hole 
one  is  two  minutes  earlier.  Look  out  and  not  take  that. 
Zoeth  is  afraid  you  will  make  a  mistake,  but  I  laugh  at 
him.  Don't  take  the  wrong  train. 

Mary  laughed  when  she  read  these  letters,  but  there 
was  a  choke  in  the  laugh.  In  spite  of  the  perils  of 
travel  by  the  electrics  and  the  New  Haven  railroad,  she 
reached  South  Harniss  safe,  sound,  and  reasonably  on 
time.  The  first  person  she  saw  on  the  platform  of  the 
station  was  Captain  Shadrach.  He  had  been  pacing 
that  platform  for  at  least  forty  minutes. 

He  spied  her  at  the  same  time  and  came  rushing  to 
greet  her,  both  hands  outstretched. 

"And  here  you  be!"  he  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm. 

Mary  laughed  happily. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Shad,  here  I  am,"  she  said.  "Are  you 
glad  to  see  me?" 

Shadrach  looked  at  her. 

"Jumpiri !"  was  the  only  answer  he  made,  but  it  was 
fervent  and  sufficient. 

They  rode  home  together  in  the  old  buggy.  As  they 
reached  the  corner  by  the  store  Mary  expected  the  vehi 
cle  to  be  brought  to  a  halt  at  the  curb,  but  it  was  not. 
The  Captain  chirruped  to  the  horse  and  drove  straight  on. 

186 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Why,  Uncle  Shad !"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "Aren't  you 
going  to  stop?" 

"Eh?    Stop?    What  for?" 

"Why,  to  see  Uncle  Zoeth,  of  course.  He's  at  the 
store,  isn't  he?" 

Shadrach  shook  his  head. 

"No,  he  ain't,"  he  said.     "He's  to  home." 

Mary  was  amazed  and  a  trifle  alarmed.  One  partner 
of  Hamilton  and  Company  was  there  in  the  buggy  with 
her.  By  all  the  rules  of  precedent  and  South  Harniss 
business  the  other  should  have  been  at  the  store.  She 
knew  that  her  uncles  had  employed  no  clerk  or  as 
sistant  since  she  left. 

"But— but  is  Uncle  Zoeth  sick?"  she  asked. 

"Sick?  No,  no,  course  he  ain't  sick.  If  he  didn't 
have  no  better  sense  than  to  get  sick  the  day  you  come 
home  I'd — I'd — I  don't  know's  I  wouldn't  drown  him. 
He  ain't  sick — unless,"  he  added,  as  an  afterthought, 
"he's  got  Saint  Vitus  dance  from  hoppin'  up  and  down 
to  look  out  of  the  window,  watchin'  for  us." 

"But  if  he  isn't  sick,  why  isn't  he  at  the  store?  Who 
is  there?" 

The  Captain  chuckled. 

"Not  a  solitary  soul,"  he  declared.  "That  store's 
shut  up  tight  and  it's  goin'  to  stay  that  way  this  whole 
blessed  evenin'.  Zoeth  and  me  we  talked  it  over.  I 
didn't  know  but  we'd  better  get  Abel  Snow's  boy  or  that 
pesky  Annabel  or  somebody  to  stay  while  we  was  havin' 
supper.  You  see,  we  was  both  sot  on  eatin'  supper  with 
you  tonight,  no  matter  store  or  not,  and  Isaiah,  he  was 
just  as  sot  as  we  was.  But  all  to  once  Zoeth  had  an 
idea.  'Shadrach,'  he  says,  'in  Scriptur'  times  when  peo 
ple  was  real  happy,  same  as  we  are  now,  they  used  to 
make  a  sacrifice  to  the  Almighty  to  show  how  glad  and 

187    ' 


MARY-'GUSTA 

grateful  they  was.  Let's  you  and  me  make  a  sacrifice; 
let's  sacrifice  this  evenin's  trade — let's  shut  up  the  store 
on  account  of  our  girl's  comin'  home.'  'Good  idea !'  says 
I,  so  we  did  it." 

Mary  looked  at  him  reproachfully. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "you  shouldn't  have  done 
that.  It  was  dear  and  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  it,  but 
you  shouldn't  have  done  it.  It  didn't  need  any  sacrifice 
to  prove  that  you  were  glad  to  see  me." 

Shadrach  winked  over  his  shoulder. 

"Don't  let  that  sacrifice  worry  you  any,"  he  observed. 
"The  sacrifice  is  mainly  in  Zoeth's  eye.  Fur's  I'm  con 
cerned — well,  Jabez  Hedges  told  me  yesterday  that  Ras- 
tus  Young  told  him  he  cal'lated  he'd  have  to  be  droppin' 
in  at  the  store  some  of  these  nights  to  buy  some  rubber 
boots  and  new  ileskins.  We  sold  him  the  ones  he's  got 
four  years  ago  and  he  ain't  paid  for  'em  yet.  No,  no, 
Mary-'Gusta,  don't  you  worry  about  that  sacrifice.  I 
can  sacrifice  Rastus  Young's  trade  eight  days  in  the  week 
and  make  money  by  it.  Course  I  didn't  tell  Zoeth  that ; 
have  to  humor  these  pious  folks  much  as  we  can,  you 
know." 

Mary  smiled,  but  she  shook  her  head.  "It's  no  use 
your  talking  to  me  in  that  way,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said. 
"I  know  you  too  well.  And  right  in  the  Christmas  sea 
son,  too!" 

Zoeth's  welcome  was  as  hearty,  if  not  as  exuberant,  as 
Captain  Shad's.  He  met  her  at  the  door  and  after  the 
first  hug  and  kiss  held  her  off  at  arm's  length  and  looked 
her  over. 

"My !  my !  my !"  he  exclaimed.  "And  this  is  our  little 
Mary-'Gusta  come  back  again !  It  don't  seem  as  if  it 
could  be,  somehow." 

"But  it  is,  Uncle  Zoeth,"  declared  Mary,   laughing. 
188 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"And  isn't  it  good  to  be  here!  Well,  Isaiah,"  turning 
to  Mr.  Chase,  who,  aproned  and  shirtsleeved  as  usual, 
had  been  standing  grinning  in  the  background,  "haven't 
you  anything  to  say  to  me?" 

Isaiah  had  something  to  say  and  he  said  it. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  announced.  "Feelin'  pretty 
smart?  Got  a  new  hat,  ain't  you?  Supper's  ready." 

During  the  meal  Mary  was  kept  busy  answering  ques 
tions  concerning  school  and  her  life  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's. 
In  her  letters  she  had  endeavored  to  tell  every  possible 
item  of  news  which  might  be  interesting  to  her  uncles, 
but  now  these  items  were  one  by  one  recalled,  reviewed, 
and  discussed. 

'  'Twas  kind  of  funny,  that  young  Smith  feller's 
turnin'  up  for  dinner  that  time,"  observed  Mr.  Hamilton. 
"Cal'late  you  was  some  surprised  to  see  him,  wan't  you  ?" 

Mary  smiled.  "Why,  yes,"  she  said,  "but  I  think  he 
was  more  surprised  to  see  me,  Uncle  Zoeth." 

Captain  Shad  laughed  heartily.  "Shouldn't  wonder," 
he  admitted.  "Didn't  bring  any  fly  paper  along  with 
him,  did  he  ?  No  ?  Well,  that  was  an  oversight.  Maybe 
he  thought  fly  time  was  past  and  gone.  He  seemed  to 
be  a  real  nice  kind  of  young  feller  when  he  was  down 
here  that  summer.  He's  older  now;  does  he  seem  that 
way  yet?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  so.  I  only  saw  him  for  a  little 
while." 

Isaiah  seemed  to  think  it  time  for  him  to  put  in  a 
question. 

"Good  lookin'  as  ever,  I  cal'late,  ain't  he?"  he  ob 
served. 

Mary  was  much  amused.  "Why,  I  suppose  he  is," 
she  answered.  "But  why  in  the  world  are  you  interested 
in  his  good  looks,  Isaiah?" 

189 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mr.  Chase  did  his  best  to  assume  an  expression  of 
deep  cunning.  He  winked  at  his  employers. 

"Oh,  7  ain't  interested — not  'special,"  he  declared,  "but 
I  didn't  know  but  some  folks  might  be.  Ho,  ho!" 

He  roared  at  his  own  pleasantry.  Captain  Shadrach, 
however,  did  not  laugh. 

"Some  folks?"  he  repeated,  tartly.  "What  are  you 
talkin'  about?  What  folks?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  sayin'  what  folks.  I'm  just  sayin'  some 
folks.  Ho,  ho!  You  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you, 
Mary-'Gusta?" 

Before  Mary  could  reply  the  Captain  cut  in  again. 

"No,  she  don't  know  what  you  mean,  neither,"  he 
declared,  with  emphasis.  "That's  enough  of  that  now, 
Isaiah.  Don't  be  any  bigger  fool  than  you  can  help." 

The  self-satisfied  grin  faded  from  Isaiah's  face  and 
was  succeeded  by  a  look  of  surprised  and  righteous  in 
dignation. 

"Wha — what's  that?"  he  stammered.  "What's  that 
you're  callin'  me?" 

"I  ain't  callin'  you  nothin'.  I'm  givin'  you  some  free 
advice,  that's  all.  Well,  Mary-'Gusta,  I  cal'late,  if  you've 
had  supper  enough,  you  and  me  and  Zoeth  will  go  into 
the  settin'-room,  where  we  can  all  talk  and  I  can  smoke. 
I  can  always  talk  better  under  a  full  head  of  steam. 
Come  on,  Zoeth,  Isaiah  wants  to  be  clearin'  the  table." 

But  Mr.  Chase's  thoughts  were  not  concerned  with 
table  clearing  just  then.  He  stepped  between  Captain 
Shadrach  and  the  door  leading  to  the  sitting-room. 

"Cap'n  Shad  Gould,"  he  sputtered,  "you — you  said 
somethin'  about  a  fool.  Who's  a  fool?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know — who's  a  fool?" 

The  Captain  grunted. 

"Give  it  up,"  he  observed.  "I  never  was  any  hand 
190 


MARY-'GUSTA 

at  riddles.  Come,  come,  Isaiah !  Get  out  of  the  chan 
nel  and  let  us  through." 

"You  hold  on,  Cap'n  Shad!  You  answer  me  afore 
you  leave  this  room.  Who's  a  fool?  I  want  to  know 
who's  a  fool." 

Captain  Shad  grinned. 

"Well,  go  up  to  the  post-office  and  ask  some  of  the 
gang  there,"  he  suggested.  "Tell  'em  you'll  give  'em 
three  guesses.  There,  there!"  he  added,  good-naturedly, 
pushing  the  irate  Mr.  Chase  out  of  the  "channel."  "Don't 
block  the  fairway  any  longer.  It's  all  right,  Isaiah. 
You  and  me  have  been  shipmates  too  long  to  fight  now. 
You  riled  me  up  a  little,  that's  all.  Come  on,  folks." 

Two  hours  later,  after  Mary  had  answered  the  last 
questions  even  Captain  Shad  could  think  of,  had  re 
ceived  answers  to  all  her  own,  and  had  gone  to  her 
room  for  the  night,  Mr.  Hamilton  turned  to  his  partner 
and  observed  mildly: 

"Shadrach,  what  made  you  so  dreadful  peppery  to 
Isaiah  this  evenin'?  I  declare,  I  thought  you  was  goin' 
to  take  his  head  off." 

The  Captain  grunted.  "I  will  take  it  off  some  time," 
he  declared,  "if  he  don't  keep  the  lower  end  of  it  shut 
when  he'd  ought  to.  You  heard  what  he  said,  didn't 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  heard.  That  about  the  Smith  boy's  good 
looks,  you  mean?" 

"Sartin.  And  about  Mary-'Gusta's  noticin'  how  good- 
lookin'  he  was.  Rubbish!" 

"Yes — yes,  I  know,  but  Isaiah  was  only  jokinV 

"Jokin' !  Well,  he  may  look  like  a  comic  almanac,  but 
he  needn't  try  to  joke  like  one  while  that  girl  of  ours 
is  around.  Puttin'  notions  about  fellers  and  good  looks 
and  keepin'  company  into  her  head!  You  might  expect 

191 


MARY-'GUSTA 

such  stuff  from  them  fool  drummers  that  come  to  the 
store,  but  an  old  leather-skinned  image  like  Isaiah  Chase 
ought  to  have  more  sense.  We  don't  want  such  notions 
put  in  her  head,  do  we?" 

Zoeth  rubbed  his  chin.  He  did  not  speak  and  his 
silence  seemed  to  irritate  his  partner. 

"Well,  do  we?"  repeated  the  latter,  sharply. 

Zoeth  sighed.  "No,  Shadrach,"  he  admitted.  "I  guess 
likely  we  don't,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"Well,  we've  got  to  realize  that  those  kind  of  notions 
come — come  sort  of  natural  to  young  folks  Mary-'Gusta's 
age." 

"Rubbish !  I  don't  believe  that  girl's  got  a  single  one 
of  'em  in  her  mind." 

"Maybe  not,  but  they'll  be  there  some  day.  Ah,  well," 
he  added,  "we  mustn't  be  selfish,  you  and  me,  Shadrach. 
It'll  be  dreadful  hard  to  give  her  up  to  somebody  else, 
but  if  that  somebody  is  a  good  man,  kind  and  straight 
and  honest,  why,  I  for  one  will  try  not  to  complain. 
But,  Oh,  Shadrach!  Suppose  he  should  turn  out  to  be 

the  other  thing.  Suppose  she  makes  the  mistake  that 
j » 

His  friend  interrupted. 

"Shh!  shh!"  he  broke  in,  quickly.  "Don't  talk  so, 
Zoeth.  Come  on  to  bed,"  he  added,  rising  from  his 
chair.  "This  very  evenin'  I  was  callin'  Isaiah  names 
for  talkin'  about  'fellers'  and  such,  and  here  you  and  I 
have  been  sittin'  talkin'  nothin'  else.  If  you  hear  me 
say  'fool'  in  my  sleep  tonight  just  understand  I'm 
talkin'  to  myself,  that's  all.  Come  on  aloft,  Zoeth, 
and  turn  in." 

The  following  morning  Mary  astonished  her  uncles 
by  announcing  that  as  soon  as  she  had  helped  Isaiah  with 

192 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  breakfast  dishes  and  the  bed  making  she  was  going 
up  to  the  store. 

"What  for?"  demanded  Captain  Shad.  "Course  we'll 
be  mighty  glad  to  have  your  company,  but  Zoeth  and 
me  presumed  likely  you'd  be  for  goin'  round  callin' 
on  some  of  the  other  girls  today." 

"Well,  I'm  not.  If  they  want  to  see  me  they  can 
call  on  me  here.  I'm  going  up  to  the  store  with  you 
and  Uncle  Zoeth.  I  want  to  help  sell  those  Christmas 
goods  of  ours." 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other.  Even  Zoeth  was 
moved  to  protest. 

"Now,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  "it  ain't  likely  that  your 
Uncle  Shadrach  and  I  are  goin'  to  let  you  sell  goods 
in  that  store.  We  won't  hear  of  it,  will  we,  Shadrach  ?" 

"Not  by  a  thunderin'  sight!"  declared  Shadrach, 
vehemently.  "The  idea!" 

"Why  not?    I've  sold  a  good  many  there." 

"I  don't  care  if  you  have.  You  shan't  sell  any  more. 
'Twas  all  right  when  you  was  just  a — a  girl,  a  South 
Harnisser  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  now  that  you're  a 
Boston  young  lady,  up  to  a  fin — er — what-d'ye-call-it  ? — 
er — endin'  school " 

"Finishin'  school,  Shadrach,"  corrected  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"Well,  whatever  'tis ;  I  know  'twould  be  the  end  of  me 
if  I  had  to  live  up  to  the  style  of  it.  Anyhow,  now 
that  you're  there,  Mary-'Gusta,  a  young  lady,  same  as 
I  said,  we  ain't " 

But  Mary  interrupted.  "Hush,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  com 
manded.  "Hush,  this  minute !  You're  talking  nonsense. 
I  am  a  South  Harniss  girl  and  I'm  not  a  Boston  young 
lady.  My  chief  reasons  for  being  so  very  happy  at 
the  thought  of  coming  home  here  for  my  Christmas  va 
cation  were,  first,  that  I  should  see  you  and  Uncle  Zoeth 

193 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  Isaiah  and  the  house  and  the  horse  and  the  cat 
and  the  hens,  and,  next,  that  I  could  help  you  with  the 
Christmas  trade  at  the  store.  I  know  perfectly  well 
you  need  me.  I'm  certain  you  have  been  absolutely  lost 
without  me.  Now,  really  and  truly,  haven't  you?" 

"Not  a  mite,"  declared  the  Captain,  stoutly,  spoiling 
the  effect  of  the  denial,  however,  by  adding,  although 
his  partner  had  not  spoken :  "Shut  up,  Zoeth !  We  ain't, 
neither." 

Mary  laughed.  "Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "I  don't  be 
lieve  you.  At  any  rate,  I'm  going  up  there  this  min 
ute  to  see  for  myself.  Come  along!" 

She  made  no  comment  on  what  she  saw  at  the  store, 
but  for  the  remainder  of  the  forenoon  she  was  very 
busy.  In  spite  of  the  partners'  protests,  in  fact  paying 
no  more  attention  to  those  perturbed  men  of  business 
than  if  they  were  flies  to  be  brushed  aside  when  bother 
some,  she  went  ahead,  arranging,  rearranging,  dusting, 
writing  price  tickets,  lettering  placards,  doing  all  sorts 
of  things,  and  waiting  on  customers  in  the  intervals.  At 
noon,  when  she  and  her  Uncle  Zoeth  left  for  home  and 
dinner,  she  announced  herself  in  a  measure  satisfied. 
"Of  course  there  is  a  great  deal  to  do  yet,"  she  said,  "but 
the  stock  looks  a  little  more  as  if  it  were  meant  to  sell 
and  less  as  if  it  were  heaped  up  ready  to  be  carted  off 
and  buried." 

That  afternoon  the  store  of  Hamilton  and  Company 
was  visited  by  a  goodly  number  of  South  Harniss  resi 
dents.  That  evening  there  were  more.  The  news  that 
Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop  was  at  home  and  was  "tendin' 
store"  for  her  uncles  spread  and  was  much  discussed. 
The  majority  of  those  who  came  did  so  not  because 
they  contemplated  purchasing  extensively,  but  because 
they  wished  t»  see  what  effect  the  fashionable  finishing 

194 


MARY-'GUSTA 

school  had  had  upon  the  girl.  The  general  opinion 
seemed  to  be  that  it  "hadn't  changed  her  a  mite."  This 
result,  however,  was  considered  a  desirable  one  by  the 
majority,  but  was  by  some  criticized.  Among  the  critics 
was  Mrs.  Rebecca  Mullet,  whose  daughter  Irene  also 
was  away  at  school  undergoing  the  finishing  process. 

"Well!"  declared  Mrs.  Mullet,  with  decision,  as  she 
and  her  husband  emerged  from  the  store  together. 
"Well!  If  that's  a  sample  of  what  the  school  she  goes 
to  does  for  them  that  spend  their  money  on  it,  I'm  mighty 
glad  we  didn't  send  our  Rena  there,  ain't  you,  Christo 
pher?" 

Mr.  Chris  Mullet,  who  had  received  that  very  week  a 
bill  for  his  daughter's  "extras,"  uttered  a  fervent  assent. 

"You  bet  you!"  he  said.  "It  costs  enough  where 
Rena  is,  without  sendin'  her  to  no  more  expensive 
place." 

This  was  not  exactly  the  reply  his  wife  had  expected. 

"Umph!"  she  grunted,  impatiently.  "I  do  wish  you 
could  get  along  for  two  minutes  without  puttin'  on  poor 
mouth.  I  suppose  likely  you  tell  everybody  that  you 
can't  afford  a  new  overcoat  account  of  Rena's  goin'  away 
to  school.  You'd  ought  to  be  prouder  of  your  daughter 
than  you  are  of  an  overcoat,  I  should  think." 

Mr.  Mullet  muttered  something  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  dum  sure  he  was  not  proud  of  his  present  overcoat. 
His  wife  ignored  the  complaint. 

"And  you'll  be  proud  of  Irene  when  she  comes  home," 
she  declared.  "She  won't  be  like  that  Mary-'Gusta, 
standin'  up  behind  the  counter  and  sellin'  goods." 

"Why,  now,  Becky,  what's  the  matter  with  her  doin' 
that?  She  always  used  to  sell  goods,  and  behind  that 
very  counter,  too.  And  she  certainly  can  sell  'em !"  with 
a  reminiscent  chuckle. 

195 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mrs.  Mullet  glared  at  him.  "Yes,"  she  drawled,  with 
sarcasm,  "so  she  can — to  some  folks.  Look  at  you,  with 
all  that  Christmas  junk  under  your  arm!  You  didn't 
need  to  buy  that  stuff  any  more'n  you  needed  to  fly. 
What  did  you  buy  it  for?  Tell  me  that." 

Chris  shook  his  head.  "Blessed  if  /  know,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "I  hadn't  any  idea  of  buyin'  it,  but  she  and  me 
got  to  talkin',  and  she  kept  showin'  the  things  to  me,  and 
I  kept  lookin'  at  'em  and " 

"Yes,  and  kept  lookin'  at  her,  too!  Don't  talk  to  me! 
There's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool — and  an  old  man  fool 
is  the  worst  of  all." 

Her  husband,  usually  meek  and  long-suffering  under 
wifely  discipline,  evinced  unwonted  spirit. 

"Well,  I  tell  you  this,  Becky,"  he  said.  "Fur's  I  can 
see,  Mary-'Gusta's  all  right.  She's  as  pretty  as  a  pic 
ture,  to  begin  with  ;  she's  got  money  of  her  own  to  spend  ; 
and  she's  been  away  among  folks  that  have  got  a  lot 
more.  All  them  things  together  are  enough  to  spoil 
'most  any  girl,  but  they  haven't  spoiled  her.  She's 
come  home  here  not  a  mite  stuck-up,  not  flirty  nor  silly 
nor  top-lofty,  but  just  as  sensible  and  capable  and  com 
mon-folksy  as  ever  she  was,  and  that's  sayin'  somethin'. 
If  our  Rena  turns  out  to  be  the  girl  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop 
is  I  will  be  proud  of  her,  and  don't  you  forget  it !" 

Which  terminated  conversation  in  the  Mullet  family 
for  that  evening. 

But  if  the  few,  like  Mrs.  Mullet,  were  inclined  to  criti 
cize,  the  many,  like  her  husband,  united  in  declaring 
Mary  to  be  "all  right."  And  her  rearranging  and  dis 
playing  of  the  Christmas  goods  helped  her  and  her  uncles 
to  dispose  of  them.  In  fact,  for  the  three  days  before 
Christmas  it  became  necessary  to  call  in  the  services  of 
Annabel  as  assistant  saleslady.  The  store  was  crowded, 

196 


MARY-'GUSTA 

particularly  in  the  evenings,  and  Zoeth  and  Captain  Shad 
experienced  for  the  first  time  in  months  the  sensation 
of  being  the  heads  of  a  prosperous  business. 

"Looks  good  to  see  so  many  young  folks  in  here,  don't 
it,  Zoeth?"  observed  the  Captain.  "And  not  only  girls, 
but  fellers,  too.  Don't  know  when  I've  seen  so  many 
young  fellers  in  here.  Who's  that  young  squirt  Mary- 
'Gusta's  waitin'  on  now?  The  one  with  the  whittled-in 
back  to  his  overcoat.  Say,  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
wasn't  arrayed  like  one  of  him!  Must  be  some  city 
feller,  eh?  Nobody  I  know." 

Zoeth  looked  at  his  niece  and  her  customer. 

"Humph !"  he  said.  "Guess  you  ain't  rubbed  your 
glasses  lately,  Shadrach.  That's  Dan  Higgins." 

Mr.  Higgins  it  was,  home  for  a  few  days'  relaxation 
from  the  fatigues  of  coffin  selling,  and  garbed  as  usual 
in  city  clothes  the  splendor  of  which,  as  Captain  Shad 
said  afterwards,  "would  have  given  a  blind  man  eye- 
strain."  Daniel's  arms  were  filled  with  purchases  and 
he  and  Mary  were  standing  beside  the  table  where  the 
toys  and  games  were  displayed.  Mary  was  gazing  at  the 
toys;  Mr.  Higgins  was — not. 

The  partners  regarded  the  pair  for  a  moment.  Shad 
rach  frowned. 

"Humph!"  he  grunted. 

"Daniel's  tryin'  to  find  somethin'  his  little  brother'll 
like,"  explained  Zoeth. 

"Yes,"  observed  the  Captain,  dryly.  "Well,  he  looks 
as  if  he'd  found  somethin'  he  liked  pretty  well.  Here, 
Mary-'Gusta,  I'll  finish  waitin'  on  Dan.  You  just  see 
what  Mrs.  Nickerson  wants,  will  you,  please?" 

Christmas  Eve  ended  the  rush  of  business  for  Hamil 
ton  and  Company.  The  following  week,  the  last  of 
Mary's  vacation,  was  certain  to  be  dull  enough.  "Nothin' 

197 


MARY-'GUSTA 

to  do  but  change  presents  for  folks,"  prophesied  Captain 
Shad.  "Give  them  somethin'  they  want  and  take  back 
somethin'  we  don't  want.  That  kind  of  trade  is  like 
shovelin'  fog  up  hill,  more  exercise  than  profit." 

Christmas  was  a  happy  day  at  the  white  house  by 
the  shore,  a  day  of  surprises.  To  begin  with,  there  were 
the  presents  which  were  beside  the  plates  at  breakfast. 
Mary  had  brought  gifts  for  all,  Captain  Shadrach,  Zoeth, 
and  Isaiah.  There  was  nothing  expensive,  of  course,  but 
each  had  been  chosen  to  fit  the  taste  and  liking  of  the 
recipient  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  each  choice  was 
a  success.  Isaiah  proudly  displayed  a  jacknife  which 
was  a  small  toolchest,  having  four  blades,  a  corkscrew,  a 
screwdriver,  a  chisel,  a  button-hook  and  goodness  knows 
what  else  besides. 

"Look  at  that!"  crowed  Isaiah,  exhibiting  the  knife, 
bristling  like  a  porcupine,  on  his  open  palm.  "Look  at  it ! 
By  time,  there  ain't  nothin'  I  can't  do  with  that  knife ! 
Every  time  I  look  at  it  I  find  somethin'  new.  Now,  I 
wonder  what  that  is,"  pointing  to  a  particularly  large 
and  ferocious-looking  implement  which  projected  from 
the  steel  tangle.  "I  cal'late  I've  sized  up  about  every 
thing  else,  but  I  can't  seem  to  make  out  what  that's 
for.  What  do  you  cal'late  'tis,  Cap'n  Shad?" 

Shadrach  looked. 

"Why,  that's  simple,"  he  said,  gravely.  "That's  a 
crust  crowbar." 

"A  what?" 

"A  crust  crowbar.  For  openin'  one  of  them  cast-iron 
pies  same  as  you  made  for  us  last  week.  You  drill  a 
hole  in  the  crust  nigh  the  edge  of  the  plate  and  then 
put  that  thing  in  and  pry  the  upper  deck  loose.  Good 
idea,  Isaiah!  I " 

"Aw,  go  to  grass!"  interrupted  the  indignant  Mr. 
198 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Chase.     "I  notice  you  always  eat  enough  of  my  pies, 
decks — yes,  and  hull  and  riggin',  too." 

Then  there  was  the  great  surprise,  that  which  the  part 
ners  had  prepared  for  their  idolized  niece.  Mary  found 
beside  her  plate  a  small,  oblong  package,  wrapped  in 
tissue  paper  and  labeled,  "To  Mary-'Gusta,  from  Uncle 
Shadrach  and  Uncle  Zoeth,  with  a  Merry  Christmas." 
Inside  the  paper  was  a  pasteboard  box,  inside  that  a 
leather  case,  and  inside  that  a  handsome  gold  watch  and 
chain.  Then  there  was  much  excited  exclaiming  and 
delighted  thanks  on  Mary's  part,  and  explanations  and 
broad  grins  on  that  of  the  givers. 

"But  you  shouldn't  have  done  it!  Of  course  you 
shouldn't!"  protested  Mary.  "It's  perfectly  lovely  and 
I  wanted  a  watch  more  than  anything;  but  I  know  this 
must  have  cost  a  great  deal." 

"Never,  neither,"  protested  the  Captain.  "We  got  it 
wholesale.  Edgar  Emery's  nephew  is  in  the  business  up 
to  Providence  and  he  picked  it  out  for  us.  Didn't  be 
gin  to  cost  what  we  cal'lated  'twould,  did  it,  Zoeth? 
When  you  buy  things  wholesale  that  way  you  can  'most 
always  cal'late  to  get  'em  lower  than  you  cal'late  to." 

Mary  smiled  at  this  somewhat  involved  statement,  but 
she  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  sure  it  cost  a  great  deal  more  than  you  should 
have  spent,"  she  said. 

"But  you  like  it,  don't  you?"  queried  Zoeth,  hope 
fully. 

"Like  it !  Oh,  Uncle  Zoeth,  don't  you  know  I  like  it ! 
Who  could  help  liking  such  a  beautiful  thing?" 

"How's  it  show  up  alongside  the  watches  the  other 
girls  have  up  to  that  Boston  school?"  asked  Shadrach, 
with  ill-concealed  anxiety.  "We  wouldn't  want  our  girl's 
watch  to  be  any  cheaper'n  theirs,  you  know." 

199 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  answer  was  enthusiastic  enough  to  satisfy  even 
the  Captain  and  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"I'm  sure  there  isn't  another  girl  in  the  school  whose 
watch  means  to  her  what  this  will  mean  to  me,"  declared 
Mary.  "I  shall  keep  it  and  love  it  all  my  life." 

The  partners  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Whether  or 
not  the  watch  was  fine  enough  for  their  Mary-'Gusta  had 
been  a  source  of  worriment  and  much  discussion.  And 
then  Isaiah,  with  his  customary  knack  of  saying  the 
wrong  thing,  tossed  a  brickbat  into  the  puddle  of  general 
satisfaction. 

"That's  so,"  he  said;  "that's  so,  Mary-'Gusta.  You 
can  keep  it  all  your  life,  and  when  you  get  to  be  an  old 
woman  and  married  and  have  grandchildren  then  you 
can  give  it  to  them." 

Captain  Shadrach,  who  had  taken  up  his  napkin  pre 
paratory  to  tucking  it  under  his  chin,  turned  in  his  chair 
and  glared  at  the  unconscious  steward. 

"Well,  by  the  jumpin'  fire!"  he  exclaimed,  with  con 
viction.  "The  feller  is  sartinly  possessed.  He's  love 
sick,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  him.  All  he  can  talk 
about  is  somebody's  gettin'  married.  Are  you  cal'latin' 
to  get  married,  Isaiah?" 

"Me?    What  kind  of  fool  talk  is  that?" 

"Who's  the  lucky  woman?" 

"There  ain't  no  lucky  woman.  Don't  talk  so  ridic'lous ! 
All  I  said  was  that  when  Mary-'Gusta  was  old  and  mar 
ried  and  had " 

"There  you  go  again !  Married  and  children !  Say,  did 
it  ever  run  acrost  your  mind  that  you  was  a  little  mite 
previous  ?" 

"I  never  said  children.  What  I  said  was  when  she 
was  old  and  had  grandchildren." 

"Grandchildren !  Well,  that's  a  dum  sight  more  previ- 
200 


MARY-'GUSTA 

ous.  Let's  have  breakfast,  all  hands,  for  the  land  sakes ! 
Isaiah'll  have  us  cruisin'  along  with  the  third  and  fourth 
generation  in  a  few  minutes.  I'm  satisfied  with  this  one !" 

That  evening,  at  bedtime,  as  the  partners  separated  in 
the  upper  hall  to  go  to  their  respective  rooms,  Zoeth 
said : 

"Shadrach,  this  has  been  a  mighty  nice-  Christmas  for 
us  all,  ain't  it  ?" 

Captain  Shad  nodded  emphatically.  "You  bet !"  he 
declared.  "Don't  seem  to  me  I  ever  remember  a  nicer 
one." 

"Nor  I,  neither.     I — I  wonder " 

"Well,  heave  ahead.  What  are  you  waitin'  for  ?  What 
do  you  wonder?" 

"I  was  just  wonderin'  if  'twas  right  for  us  to  be  «o 
happy." 

"Right?" 

"Yes.  Have  we  been — well,  good  enough  this  past 
year  to  deserve  happiness  like  this?" 

Shadrach  grinned. 

"I  ain't  puttin'  in  any  testimony  on  my  own  hook," 
he  said,  dryly,  "but  I  don't  seem  to  remember  your  bein' 
desperately  wicked,  Zoeth.  Course  you  may  have  got 
drunk  and  disorderly  that  time  when  Mary-'Gusta  and 
I  left  you  and  went  to  Boston,  but  I  kind  of  doubt  it." 

"Hush,  hush,  Shadrach!  Don't  joke  about  serious 
things.  What  I  mean  is  have  you  and  I  walked  the 
Lord's  way  as  straight  as  we'd  ought  to?  We've  tried 
— that  is,  seems  's  if  we  had — but  I  don't  know.  Anyhow, 
all  this  afternoon  I've  had  a  funny  feelin'  that  you  and 
me  and  Mary-'Gusta  was — well  was  as  if  the  tide  had 
been  comin'  in  for  us  all  these  years  since  she's  been 
livin'  with  us,  and  as  if  now  'twould  begin  to  go  out 
again." 

20 1 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  Captain  laughed.  "And  that's  what  you  call  a 
funny  f eelin' !"  he  exclaimed.  "Zoeth,  I've  got  a  funny 
feelin',  too,  but  I  know  what's  the  reason  for  it — the 
reason  is  turkey  and  plum  puddin'  and  mince  pie  and  the 
land  knows  what.  When  a  couple  of  old  hulks  like  you 
and  me  h'ist  in  a  cargo  of  that  kind  it's  no  wonder  we 
have  feelin's.  Good  night,  shipmate." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  day  after  New  Year's  Mary  went  back  to  Bos~ 
ton  and  to  school.  The  long  winter  term — the 
term  which  Madeline  Talbott,  whose  father  was  a 
judge,  called  "the  extreme  penalty" — began.  Boston's 
famous  east  winds,  so  welcome  in  summer  and  so  raw  and 
penetrating  in  winter,  brought  their  usual  allowance  of 
snow  and  sleet,  and  the  walks  from  Pinckney  Street  to 
the  school  and  back  were  not  always  pleasant.  Mrs. 
Wyeth  had  a  slight  attack  of  tonsillitis  and  Miss  Pease  a 
bronchial  cold,  but  they  united  in  declaring  these  afflictions 
due  entirely  to  their  own  imprudence  and  not  in  the  least 
to  the  climate,  which,  being  like  themselves,  thoroughly 
Bostonian,  was  expected  to  maintain  a  proper  degree  of 
chill. 

Mary,  fortunately,  escaped  colds  and  illness.  The 
walks  in  all  sorts  of  weather  did  her  good  and  her  rosy 
cheeks  and  clear  eyes  were  competent  witnesses  to  her 
state  of  health.  She  was  getting  on  well  with  her  studies, 
and  the  Misses  Cabot,  not  too  easy  to  please,  were  ap 
parently  pleased  with  her.  At  home — for  she  had  come 
to  consider  Mrs.  Wyeth's  comfortable  house  a  home,, 
although  not  of  course  to  be  compared  with  the  real 
home  at  South  Harniss — at  Mrs.  Wyeth's  she  was  more 
of  a  favorite  than  ever,  not  only  with  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  but  with  Miss  Pease,  who  was  considered 
eccentric  and  whose  liking  was  reported  hard  to  win.. 
The  two  ladies  had  many  talks  concerning  the  girl. 

"She  is  remarkable,"  declared  Miss  Pease  on  one  oc 
casion.  "Considering  her  lack  of  early  advantages,  I 

203 


MARY-'GUSTA 

consider  her  ease  of  manner  and  self-possession  re 
markable.  She  is  a  prodigy." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  sniffed.  She  enjoyed  hearing  Mary 
praised,  but  she  objected  to  her  friend's  choice  of  words. 

"For  mercy  sake,  Letitia,"  she  said,  "don't  call  her 
that.  The  word  'prodigy'  always  reminds  me  of  the 
Crummies  infant,  the  one  with  the  green  parasol  and 
the  white — er — lingerie,  in  'Nicholas  Nickleby.'  " 

Miss  Pease  smiled  with  the  superiority  of  the  corrected 
who  is  about  to  correct. 

"I  don't  see  why  that  should  bring  the  individual 
you  mention  to  mind,"  she  said.  "If  7  remember  cor 
rectly — and  I  was  brought  up  on  Dickens — she  was  a 
'phenomenon/  not  a  prodigy.  However,  it  makes  no  ma 
terial  difference  what  you  and  I  call  Mary  Lathrop,  the 
fact  remains  that  she  is  an  exceptionally  well-behaved, 
good-mannered,  polite " 

"Sweet,  healthy  girl,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Wyeth,  finish 
ing  the  sentence.  "I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do,  Letitia 
Pease.  And  you  know  I  know  it.  Now,  what  have  you 
in  your  mind  concerning  Mary?  I  know  there  is  some 
thing,  because  you  have  been  hinting  at  it  for  more  than 
a  week.  What  is  it?" 

Miss  Pease  looked  wise. 

"Oh,  I  have  a  plan,"  she  said.  "I  can't  tell  even  you, 
Emily,  just  what  it  is  as  yet.  You  see,  it  isn't  really 
a  plan,  but  only  an  idea  so  far.  She  doesn't  know  it  her 
self,  of  course." 

"Hum!  Is  it  a  pleasant  plan — or  idea,  whichever  you 
call  it?  That  is,  will  she  think  it  pleasant  when  she 
learns  what  it  is?" 

"I   certainly  hope  so." 

"Look  here,  Letitia,"  with  sudden  suspicion,  "you 
aren't  planning  some  ridiculous  sentimental  nonsense  for 

204 


MARY-'GUSTA 

that  child,  are  you  ?  You're  not  trying  to  make  a  match 
for  her,  I  hope?" 

"Match?  What  are  you  talking  about?  If  you  mean 
am  I  trying  to  get  her  married  to  some  man,"  with  a 
scornful  emphasis  on  the  word,  "I  most  certainly 
am  not." 

"Humph!  Well,  if  she  ever  is  married,  I  presume  it 
will  be  to  a  man,  or  an  imitation  of  one.  All  right,  Le- 
titia.  I  am  glad  your  great  idea  isn't  that,  whatever  it 
is." 

"It  is  not.  You  know  my  opinion  of  marriage,  Emily 
Wyeth.  And,  so  far  as  matchmaking  is  concerned,  I 
should  say  you  were  a  more  likely  subject  for  suspicion. 
That  young  relative  of  yours,  Sam  Keith,  appears  to 
be  coming  here  a  great  deal  of  late.  He  may  come  solely 
to  see  you,  but  I  doubt  it." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  smiled  grimly. 

"Samuel  has  been  rather  prevalent  recently,"  she  ad 
mitted,  "but  don't  let  that  trouble  you,  Letitia.  I  have 
had  my  eye  on  the  young  man.  Samuel  is  as  susceptible 
to  pretty  girls  as  children  are  to  the  measles.  And  his 
attacks  remind  me  of  the  measles  as  much  as  anything, 
sudden  outbreak,  high  fever  and  delirium,  then  a  general 
cooling  off  and  a  rapid  recovery.  This  seizure  isn't 
alarming  and  there  is  absolutely  no  danger  of  contagion. 
Mary  doesn't  take  him  seriously  at  all." 

"And  how  about  that  other  young  man? — Smith,  I 
think  his  name  is.  He  has  called  here  twice  since  Christ 
mas." 

Mrs.  Wyeth  seemed  to  be  losing  patience. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  she  demanded. 

"Why,  nothing  that  I  know  of,  except,  perhaps " 

"There  is  no  perhaps  at  all.  The  Smith  boy  appears 
to  be  a  very  nice  young  fellow,  and  remarkably  sensible 

205 


MARY-'GUSTA 

for  a  young  person  in  this  hoity-toity  age.  From  what  I 
can  learn,  his  people,  although  they  do  live  out  West — 
down  in  a  mine  or  up  on  a  branch  or  a  ranch  or  some 
thing — are  respectable.  Why  shouldn't  he  call  to  see 
Mary  occasionally,  and  why  shouldn't  she  see  him? 
Goodness  gracious!  What  sort  of  a  world  would  this 
be  if  young  people  didn't  see  each  other  ?  Don't  tell  me 
that  you  never  had  any  young  male  acquaintances  when 
you  were  a  girl,  Letitia,  because  I  shan't  believe  you." 

Miss  Pease  straightened  in  her  chair. 

"It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall  make  any  such  preposterous 
statement,"  she  snapped. 

So  the  "young  male  acquaintance"  called  occasionally — 
not  too  often — Mrs.  Wyeth  saw  to  that;  probably  not 
so  often  as  he  would  have  liked ;  but  he  did  call  and  the 
acquaintanceship  developed  into  friendship.  That  it 
might  develop  into  something  more  than  friendship  no 
one,  except  possibly  the  sentimental  Miss  Pease,  seemed 
to  suspect.  Certainly  Mary  did  not,  and  at  this  time  it  is 
doubtful  if  Crawford  did,  either.  He  liked  Mary  La- 
throp.  She  was  a  remarkably  pretty  girl  but,  unlike  other 
pretty  girls  he  had  known — and  as  good-looking  college 
football  stars  are  privileged  beyond  the  common  herd,  he 
had  known  at  least  several — she  did  not  flirt  with  him, 
nor  look  admiringly  up  into  his  eyes,  nor  pronounce  his 
jokes  "killingly  funny,"  nor  flatter  him  in  any  way.  If  the 
jokes  -were  funny  she  laughed  a  healthy,  genuine  laugh, 
but  if,  as  sometimes  happened,  they  were  rather  feeble, 
she  was  quite  likely  to  tell  him  so.  She  did  not  always 
agree  with  his  views,  having  views  of  her  own  on  most 
subjects,  and  if  he  asked  her  opinion  the  answer  he  re 
ceived  was  always  honest,  if  not  precisely  what  he  ex 
pected  or  hoped. 

"By  George !  You're  frank,  at  any  rate,"  he  observed, 
206 


MARY-'GUSTA 

rather  ruefully,  after  asking  her  opinion  as  to  a  point 
of  conduct  and  receiving  it  forthwith. 

"Didn't  you  want  me  to  be?"  asked  Mary.  "You  asked 
me  what  I  thought  you  should  have  done  and  I  told 
you." 

"Yes,  you  did.    You  certainly  told  me." 

"Well,  didn't  you  want  me  to  tell  you?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  wanted  you  to  tell  me  just  that." 

"But  you  asked  me  what  I  thought,  and  that  is  exactly 
what  I  think.  Don't  you  think  it  is  what  you  should 
have  done?" 

Crawford  hesitated ;  then  he  laughed.  "Why  yes,  con 
found  it,  I  do,"  he  admitted.  "But  I  hoped  you  would 
tell  me  that  what  I  did  do  was  right." 

"Whether  I  thought  so  or  not?" 

"Why — well — er — yes.  Honestly  now,  didn't  you  know 
I  wanted  you  to  say  the  other  thing?" 

It  was  Mary's  turn  to  hesitate ;  then  she,  too,  laughed. 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose "  she  began;  and  finished 

with,  "Yes,  I  did." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  say  it?    Most  girls  would." 

"Perhaps  that  is  why.  I  judge  that  most  girls  of  your 
acquaintance  say  just  about  what  you  want  them  to. 
Don't  you  think  it  is  good  for  you  to  be  told  the  truth 
occasionally?" 

It  was  good  for  him,  of  course,  and,  incidentally,  it 
had  the  fascination  of  novelty.  Here  was  a  girl  full  of 
fun,  ready  to  take  a  joke  as  well  as  give  one,  neither 
flattering  nor  expecting  flattery,  a  country  girl  who  had 
kept  store,  yet  speaking  of  that  phase  of  her  life  quite 
as  freely  as  she  did  of  the  fashionable  Misses  Cabot's 
school,  not  at  all  ashamed  to  say  she  could  not  afford  this 
or  that,  simple  and  unaffected  but  self-respecting  and 
proud;  a  girl  who  was  at  all  times  herself  and  retained 

207 


MARY-'GUSTA 

her  poise  and  common  sense  even  in  the  presence  of  a 
handsome  young  demigod  who  had  made  two  touchdowns 
against  Yale. 

It  was  extremely  good  for  Crawford  Smith  to  know 
such  a  girl.  She  helped  him  to  keep  his  feet  on  the 
ground  and  his  head  from  swelling.  Not  that  there  was 
much  danger  of  the  latter  happening,  for  the  head  was 
a  pretty  good  one,  but  Mary  Lathrop's  common  sense 
was  a  stimulating — and  fascinating — reinforcement  to 
his  own.  As  he  had  said  on  the  Sunday  afternoon  of 
their  first  meeting  in  Boston,  it  was  a  relief  to  have  some 
one  to  talk  to  who  understood  and  appreciated  a  fellow's 
serious  thoughts  as  well  as  the  frivolous  ones.  His  ap 
proaching  graduation  from  Harvard  and  the  work  which 
he  would  begin  at  the  Medical  School  in  the  fall  were 
very  much  in  his  mind  just  now.  He  told  Mary  his 
plans  and  she  and  he  discussed  them.  She  had  plans  of 
her  own,  principally  concerning  what  she  meant  to  do  to 
make  life  easier  for  her  uncles  when  her  school  days 
were  over,  and  these  also  were  discussed. 

"But,"  he  said,  "that's  really  nonsense,  after  all,  isn't 
it?" 

"What?" 

"Why,  the  idea  of  your  keeping  store  again.  You'll 
never  do  that." 

"Indeed  I  shall!    Why  not?" 

"Why,  because " 

"Because  what?" 

"Because — well,  because  I  don't  think  you  will,  that's 
all.  Girls  like  you  don't  have  to  keep  a  country  store, 
you  know — at  least,  not  for  long." 

The  remark  was  intended  to  please;  it  might  have 
pleased  some  girls,  but  it  did  not  please  this  one.  Mary's 
dignity  was  offended.  Anything  approaching  a  slur  upon 

208 


MARY-'GUSTA 

her  beloved  uncles,  or  their  place  of  business,  or  South 
Harniss,  or  the  Cape  Cod  people,  she  resented  with  all 
her  might.  Her  eyes  snapped. 

"I  do  not  have  to  keep  store  at  any  time,"  she  said 
crisply,  "in  the  country  or  elsewhere.  I  do  it  because  I 
wish  to  and  I  shall  continue  to  do  it  as  long  as  I  choose. 
If  my  friends  do  not  understand  that  fact  and  appreciate 
my  reasons,  they  are  not  my  friends,  that  is  all." 

Crawford  threw  up  both  hands.  "Whew!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Don't  shoot;  I'll  come  down!  Great  Scott! 
If  you  take  a  fellow's  head  off  like  that  when  he  pays 
you  a  compliment  what  would  you  do  if  he  dared  to  criti 
cize?" 

"Was  that  remark  of  yours  intended  as  a  compliment?" 

"Not  exactly ;  more  as  a  statement  of  fact.  I  meant — 
I  meant — Oh,  come  now,  Mary !  You  know  perfectly  well 
what  I  meant.  Own  up." 

Mary  tried  hard  to  be  solemn  and  severe,  but  the 
twinkle  in  his  eye  was  infectious  and  in  spite  of  her 
effort  her  lips  twitched. 

"Own  up,  now,"  persisted  Crawford.  "You  know 
what  I  meant.  Now,  don't  you?" 

"Well — well,  I  suppose  I  do.  But  I  think  the  remark 
was  a  very  silly  one.  That  is  the  way  Sam  Keith  talks." 

"Eh?    Oh,  does  he!" 

"Yes.  Or  he  would  if  I  would  let  him.  And  he  does 
it  much  better  than  you  do." 

"Well,  I  like  that!" 

"I  don't.  That  is  why  I  don't  want  you  to  do  it. 
I  expect  you  to  be  more  sensible.  And,  besides,  I 
won't  have  you  or  anyone  making  fun  of  my  uncles' 
store." 

"Making  fun  of  it !  I  should  say  not !  I  have  a  vivid 
and  most  respectful  memory  of  it,  as  you  ought  to  know. 

209 


MARY-'GUSTA 

By  the  way,  you  told  me  your  uncles  had  sent  you  their 
photographs.  May  I  see  them?" 

Mary  brought  the  photographs  from  her  room.  They 
had  been  taken  by  the  photographer  at  Ostable  in  com 
pliance  with  what  amounted  to  an  order  on  her  part,  and 
the  results  showed  two  elderly  martyrs  dressed  in  re 
spectable  but  uncomfortable  Sunday  clothes  and  appa 
rently  awaiting  execution.  On  the  back  of  one  mourn 
ful  exhibit  was  written,  "Mary  Augusta  from  Uncle 
Shadrach,"  and  on  the  other,  "Uncle  Zoeth  to  Mary 
Augusta,  with  much  love." 

"Now,  don't  laugh,"  commanded  Mary,  as  she  handed 
the  photographs  to  Crawford.  "I  know  they  are  funny, 
but  if  you  laugh  I'll  never  forgive  you.  The  poor  dears 
had  them  taken  expressly  to  please  me,  and  I  am  per 
fectly  sure  either  would  have  preferred  having  a  tooth 
out.  They  are  the  best  men  in  the  world  and  I  am  more 
certain  of  it  every  day." 

Crawford  did  not  laugh  at  the  photographs.  He  was 
a  young  gentleman  of  considerable  discretion  and  he  did 
not  smile,  not  even  at  Captain  Shad's  hands,  the  left 
with  fingers  separated  and  clutching  a  knee  as  if  to  keep 
it  from  shaking,  the  right  laid  woodenly  upon  a  gor 
geously  bound  parlor-table  copy  of  "Lucille."  Instead  of 
laughing  he  praised  the  originals  of  the  pictures,  talked 
reminiscently  of  his  own  visit  in  South  Harniss,  and 
finally  produced  from  his  pocketbook  a  small  photo 
graphic  print,  which  he  laid  upon  the  table  beside  the 
others. 

"I  brought  that  to  show  you,"  he  said.  "You  were  ask 
ing  about  my  father,  you  know,  and  I  told  you  I  hadn't 
a  respectable  photograph  of  him.  That  was  true ;  I 
haven't.  Dad  has  another  eccentricity  besides  his  dislike 
of  the  East  and  Eastern  ways  of  living ;  he  has  a  perfect 

210 


MARY-'GUSTA 

horror  of  having  his  photograph  taken.  Don't  ask  me 
why,  because  I  can't  tell  you.  It  isn't  because  he  is  ugly ; 
he's  a  mighty  good-looking  man  for  his  age,  if  I  do  say 
it.  But  he  has  a  prejudice  against  photographs  of  him 
self  and  won't  even  permit  me  to  take  a  snapshot  if  he 
can  prevent  it.  Says  people  who  are  always  having  their 
pictures  taken  are  vain,  conceited  idiots,  and  so  on. 
However,  I  catch  him  unawares  occasionally,  and  this  is 
a  snap  I  took  last  summer.  He  and  I  were  on  a  fishing 
trip  up  in  the  mountains.  We're  great  pals,  Dad  and  I — 
more  than  most  fathers  and  sons,  I  imagine." 

Mary  took  the  photograph  and  studied  it  with  interest. 
Mr.  Smith,  senior,  was  a  big  man,  broad-shouldered 
and  heavy,  with  a  full  gray  beard  and  mustache.  He 
wore  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  which  shaded  his  forehead 
somewhat,  but  his  eyes  and  the  shape  of  his  nose  were 
like  his  son's. 

Mary  looked  at  the  photograph  and  Crawford  looked 
at  her. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  him?"  asked  the  young 
man  after  an  interval. 

"Think?"  repeated  Mary  absently,  still  staring  at  the 
photograph.  "Why,  I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"I  mean  what  is  your  opinion  of  my  respected  dad? 
You  must  have  one  by  this  time.  You  generally  have 
one  on  most  subjects  and  you've  been  looking  at  that 
picture  for  at  least  five  minutes." 

"Have  I?  I  beg  your  pardon;  I  didn't  realize.  The 
picture  interested  me.  I  have  never  seen  your  father, 
have  I?  No,  of  course  I  haven't.  But  it  almost  seems 
as  if  I  had.  Perhaps  I  have  seen  someone  who  looks 
like  him." 

"Shouldn't  wonder.     Myself,  for  instance." 

"Of  course.  That  was  stupid  of  me,  wasn't  it?  He 
211 


MARY-'GUSTA 

looks  like  an  interesting  man,  one  who  has  had  experi 
ences." 

"He  has.  Dad  doesn't  talk  about  himself  much,  even 
to  me,  but  he  had  some  hard  rubs  before  he  reached  the 
smooth  places.  Had  to  fight  his  way,  I  guess." 

"He  looks  as  if  he  had.  But  he  got  his  way  in  the 
end,  I  should  imagine.  He  doesn't  look  like  one  who 
gives  up  easily." 

"He  isn't.  Pretty  stubborn  sometimes,  Dad  is,  but  a 
brick  to  me,  just  the  same." 

"Was  your  mother  an  Eastern  woman?" 

"No.  She  was  a  Westerner,  from  California.  Dad 
was  married  twice.  His  first  wife  came  from  New  Eng 
land  somewhere,  I  believe.  I  didn't  know  there  had 
been  another  wife  until  I  was  nearly  fifteen  years  old, 
and  then  I  found  it  out  entirely  by  accident.  She  was 
buried  in  another  town,  you  see.  I  saw  her  name  first 
on  the  gravestone  and  it  made  an  impression  on  me  be 
cause  it  was  so  odd  and  old-fashioned — 'Patience,  wife 
of  Edwin  Smith/  I  only  mention  this  to  show  you  how 
little  Dad  talks  about  himself,  but  it  was  odd  I  should 
find  it  out  that  way,  wasn't  it?  But  there!  I  don't  sup 
pose  you're  interested  in  the  Smith  genealogy.  I  apolo 
gize.  I  never  think  of  discussing  my  family  affairs  with 
anyone  but  you,  not  even  Sam.  But  you — well,  some 
how  I  seem  to  tell  you  everything.  I  wonder  why?" 

"Perhaps  because  I  ask  too  many  questions." 

"No,  it  isn't  that.  It  is  because  you  act  as  if  you 
really  cared  to  have  me  talk  about  my  own  affairs.  I 
never  met  a  girl  before  that  did.  Now,  I  want  to  ask 
you  about  that  club  business.  There's  going  to  be  the 
deuce  and  all  to  pay  in  that  if  I'm  not  careful.  Have 
you  thought  it  over?  What  would  you  do  if  you  were 
I?" 

212 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  matter  in  question  was  a  somewhat  delicate  and 
complicated  one,  dealing  with  the  admission  or  rejection 
of  a  certain  fellow  to  one  of  the  Harvard  societies. 
There  was  a  strong  influence  working  to  get  him  in  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  there  were  some  very  good  objections 
to  his  admission.  Crawford,  president  of  the  club  and 
one  of  its  most  influential  members,  was  undecided  what 
to  do.  He  had  explained  the  case  to  Mary  upon  the 
occasion  of  his  most  recent  visit  to  the  Pinckney  Street 
house,  and  had  asked  her  advice.  She  had  taken  time 
for  consideration,  of  course — she  was  the  old  Mary- 
'Gusta  still  in  that — and  now  the  advice  was  ready. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  "that  I  should  try  to  set 
tle  it  like  this." 

She  explained  her  plan.  Crawford  listened,  at  first 
dubiously  and  then  with  steadily  growing  enthu 
siasm. 

"By  George!"  he  exclaimed,  when  she  ha^d  finished. 
"That  would  do  it,  I  honestly  believe.  How  in  the  world 
did  you  ever  think  of  that  scheme  ?  Say,  you  really  are 
a  wonder  at  managing.  You  could  manage  a  big  busi 
ness  and  make  it  go,  I'm  sure.  How  do  you  do  it? 
Where  do  you  get  your  ideas?" 

Mary  laughed.     His  praise  pleased  her. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "I  just  think  them  out, 
I  guess.  I  do  like  to  manage  things  for  people.  Some 
times  I  do  it  more  than  I  should,  perhaps.  Poor  Isaiah 
Chase,  at  home  in  South  Harniss,  says  I  boss  him  to 
death.  And  my  uncles  say  I  manage  them,  too — but 
they  seem  to  like  it,"  she  added. 

"I  don't  wonder  they  do.  I  like  it,  myself.  Will  you 
help  manage  my  affairs  between  now  and  Commence 
ment?  There'll  be  a  whole  lot  to  manage,  between  the 
club  and  the  dance  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  And  then  when 

213 


MARY-'GUSTA 

you  go  to  Commencement  you  can  see  for  yourself  how 
they  work  out." 

"Go  to  Commencement?  Am  I  going  to  Commence 
ment  ?" 

"Of  course  you  are!  You're  going  with  me,  I  hope. 
I  thought  that  was  understood.  It's  a  long  way  off  yet, 
but  for  goodness'  sake  don't  say  you  won't  come.  I've 
been  counting  on  it." 

Mary's  pleasure  showed  in  her  face.  All  she  said, 
however,  was: 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
come." 

But  Commencement  was,  as  Crawford  said,  still  a 
good  way  off  and  in  the  meantime  there  were  weeks  of 
study.  The  weeks  passed,  some  of  them,  and  then  came 
the  Easter  vacation.  Mary  spent  the  vacation  in  South 
Harniss,  of  course,  and  as  there  was  no  Christmas  rush 
to  make  her  feel  that  she  was  needed  at  the  store,  she 
rested  and  drove  and  visited  and  had  a  thoroughly  happy 
and  profitable  holiday.  The  happiness  and  profit  were 
shared  by  her  uncles,  it  is  unnecessary  to  state.  When 
she  questioned  them  concerning  business  and  the  outlook 
for  the  coming  summer,  they  seemed  optimistic  and 
cheerful. 

"But  Isaiah  says  there  are  two  new  stores  to  be  opened 
in  the  village  this  spring,"  said  Mary.  "Don't  you  think 
they  may  hurt  your  trade  a  little  ?" 

Captain  Shadrach  dismissed  the  idea  and  his  prospec 
tive  competitors  with  a  condescending  wave  of  the  hand. 
"Not  a  mite,"  he  declared  scornfully.  "Not  a  mite, 
Mary-'Gusta.  Hamilton  and  Company's  a  pretty  able 
old  craft.  She  may  not  show  so  much  gilt  paint  and 
brass  work  as  some  of  the  new  ones  just  off  the  ways, 
but  her  passengers  know  she's  staunch  and  they'll  stick 

214 


MARY-'GUSTA 

by  her.  Why,  Isaiah  was  sayin'  that  a  feller  was  tellin' 
him  only  yesterday  that  it  didn't  make  any  difference 
how  many  new  stores  was  started  in  this  town,  he'd 
never  trade  anywheres  but  with  Hamilton  and  Company. 
That  shows  you,  don't  it?" 

"Who  was  it  said  that,  Uncle  Shad?"  asked  Mary. 

"Eh?  Why,  I  don't  know.  Isaiah  was  tellin'  me 
about  it  and  we  was  interrupted.  Who  was  it,  Isaiah?" 

"  'Twas  Rastus  Young,"  replied  Mr.  Chase  promptly. 

Even  the  Captain  was  obliged  to  laugh,  although  he 
declared  that  Mr.  Young's  constancy  was  a  proof  that 
the  firm's  prospects  were  good. 

"Rats'll  always  leave  a  sinkin'  ship,"  he  said,  "and  if 
Zoeth  and  me  was  goin'  under  Rat  Young  would  be  the 
first  to  quit." 

Zoeth,  when  his  niece  questioned  him,  expressed  con 
fidence  that  the  new  competitors  would  not  prove  dan 
gerous.  "The  Almighty  has  looked  after  us  so  far,"  he 
added,  "unworthy  as  we  be,  and  I  guess  he'll  carry  us 
the  rest  of  the  way,  Put  your  trust  in  Him,  Mary- 
'Gusta ;  I  hope  they  teach  you  that  up  to  school." 

So  Mary,  who  had  been  rather  troubled  at  the  news 
of  Hamilton  and  Company's  rivals  in  the  field,  dismissed 
her  fears  as  groundless.  Her  uncles  were  old-fashioned 
and  a  little  behind  the  times  in  business  methods,  but  no 
doubt  those  methods  were  suited  to  South  Harniss  and 
there  was  no  cause  for  worry  concerning  the  firm's  fu 
ture.  She  made  Isaiah  promise  to  keep  her  posted  as 
to  developments  and  went  back  to  Boston  and  her  school- 
work. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  spring  term  was  an  interesting  one  and  there 
were  other  interests  as  well.  Crawford  called 
more  frequently,  the  plans  for  Commencement  re 
quiring  a  great  deal  of  discussion.  Mary's  fondness  for 
managing  was,  or  should  have  been,  gratified,  for  the  tal 
ent  was  in  constant  demand.  Sam  Keith,  who,  after 
meeting  Mary  at  his  cousin's  house,  had  at  first  developed 
an  amazing  fondness  for  that  relative's  society,  now  came 
less  often.  He  was  in  the  second  stage  of  the  pretty-girl 
disease  mentioned  by  his  aunt ;  the  fever  and  delirium  had 
passed,  and  he  was  now  cooling  off.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  the  fever  had  been  in  the  least  encouraged.  Mary 
was  pleasant  and  agreeable  when  he  called,  but  she 
would  not  treat  him  as  a  confidant  or  an  intimate;  she 
did  not  accept  any  of  his  invitations  to  dances  or  the 
theater,  and  she  would  not  flirt  even  the  least  little  bit. 
The  last  was  the  most  unsatisfactory  drawback,  because 
the  susceptible  Samuel  was  fond  of  flirtations  and  usu 
ally  managed  to  keep  at  least  three  going  at  the  same 
time.  Therefore,  the  cooling-off  process  was,  in  this 
case,  a  bit  more  rapid  than  usual.  Sam's  calls  and  din 
ners  at  his  cousin  Emily's  residence  had  decreased  from 
two  or  three  times  a  week  to  an  uncertain  once  a  fort 
night.  Mary,  of  course,  noticed  this,  but  she  felt  no 
regret.  Crawford,  Sam's  roommate,  must  have  noticed 
it  also,  but  if  he  felt  regret  he  managed  to  conceal  the 
feeling  remarkably  well. 

Early  in  May  Captain  Shadrach  came  up  to  the  city 
216 


MARY-'GUSTA 

to  buy  summer  goods  for  the  store.  He  positively  re 
fused  to  make  his  headquarters  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's,  al 
though  that  lady  sent  an  urgent  invitation  to  him  to  do 
so.  And,  even  when  Mary  added  her  own  plea  to  that 
of  her  landlady,  the  Captain  still  refused. 

Don't  ask  me,  Mary-'Gusta  [he  wrote].  For  the  dear 
land  sakes  don't  ask  me  to  come  to  that  place  and  stay.  I'd 
do  'most  anything  for  you,  and  I  will  do  that  if  you  are  dead 
sot  on  it,  but  I  do  hope  you  ain't.  I  will  come  up  there  and 
see  you  of  course  and  111  even  stay  to  supper  if  I  get  asked, 
but  don't  ask  me  to  drop  anchor  and  stay  there  night  and 
day.  I  couldn't  stand  it.  My  backbone's  sprung  backwards 
now  from  settin'  up  so  straight  last  time  I  was  there. 

So  Mary  had  pity  upon  him  and  he  took  a  room  at 
the  Quincy  House  where,  as  he  said,  he  didn't  have  to 
keep  his  nose  dead  on  the  course  every  minute,  but  could 
"lay  to  and  be  comf'table"  if  he  wanted  to.  He  was 
invited  to  supper  at  the  Wyeth  house,  however,  and 
while  there  Mrs.  Wyeth  found  an  opportunity  to  take 
him  aside  and  talk  with  him  on  a  subject  which  he  found 
interesting  and  a  trifle  disquieting. 

"Now  mind,"  said  the  lady,  "I  am  by  no  means  con 
vinced  that  the  affair  is  anything  but  a  mere  boy  and 
girl  friendship,  or  that  it  is  ever  likely  to  be  more  than 
that.  But  I  did  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  about  it  and 
that  you  should  meet  the  young  man.  You  have  met 
him,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Shadrach,  "I've  met  him.  'Twan't 
much  more'n  that — he  just  came  into  our  store  down 
home,  that's  all.  But  I  did  meet  him  and  I  must  say 
I  thought  he  was  a  real  likely  young  feller." 

"I  am  glad  you  thought  so.  So  do  I,  Has  Mary 
written  you  of  his  calls  here?" 

217 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  she's  written.  She  ain't  the  kind 
of  girl  to  keep  anything  back  from  us ;  at  least,  if  she  is, 
she's  changed  a  heap  since  she  came  away  to  school. 
She's  told  us  about  his  comin'  here  and  about  you 
and  him  and  her  goin'  to  that — what-d'ye-call-it — 
hookey  game.  She  wrote  all  about  that  'way  last  Feb 
ruary." 

"Yes,  we  did  go  to  the  hockey  game.  Samuel,  my 
cousin  John  Keith's  boy,  played  in  it.  Now,  Captain 
Gould,  I  have  a  suggestion  to  make.  It  has  been  some 
years  since  you  met  Crawford  Smith  and  I  think,  every 
thing  considered,  you  should  meet  him  again  and  decide 
for  yourself  whether  or  not  you  still  consider  him  a 
proper  young  person  to  call  upon  your  niece.  Suppose 
you  dine  with  us  again  tomorrow  evening  and  I  invite 
young  Smith  also.  Then " 

But  the  Captain  interrupted.  He  had  a  plan  of  his 
own  for  the  following  evening  and  another  meal  at  Mrs. 
Wyeth's  was  not  a  part  of  it. 

"Er — er — excuse  me,  ma'am,"  he  cut  in  hastily,  "but 
I  had  a — a  kind  of  notion  that  Mary-'Gusta  and  me 
might  get  our  supper  at  a — a  eatin'-house  or  somewhere 
tomorrow  night  and  then  maybe  we'd  take  in — I  mean 
go  to  a  show — a  theater,  I  should  say.  I  didn't  know 
but  I'd  ask  this  young  Smith  feller  to  go  along.  And— 
and "  remembering  his  politeness,  "of  course  we'd 

be  real  glad  if  you'd  come,  too,"  he  added. 

But  Mrs.  Wyeth,  although  she  thanked  him  and  ex 
pressed  herself  as  heartily  in  favor  of  the  supper  and 
theater  party,  refused  to  become  a  member  of  it.  The 
Captain  bore  the  shock  of  the  refusal  with,  to  say  the 
least,  manful  resignation.  He  had  a  huge  respect  for 
Mrs.  Wyeth,  and  he  liked  her  because  his  beloved 
Mary-'Gusta  liked  her  so  well,  but  his  liking  was  sea- 

218 


MARY-'GUSTA 

soned  with  awe  and  her  no  in  this  case  was  a  great  re 
lief. 

So  the  following  evening  at  six  Mary  and  her  uncle 
met  Crawford  at  the  Quincy  House  and  the  three  dined 
together,  after  which  they  saw  the  performance  of  "The 
Music  Master"  at  the  Tremont  Theater.  Crawford 
found  the  dinner  quite  as  entertaining  as  the  play.  Cap 
tain  Shadrach  was  in  high  good  humor  and  his  remarks 
during  the  meal  were  characteristic.  He  persisted  in 
addressing  the  dignified  waiter  as  "Steward"  and  in  re 
ferring  to  the  hotel  kitchen  as  the  "galley."  He  con 
sulted  his  young  guests  before  ordering  and  accepted 
their  selections  gracefully  if  not  always  silently. 

"All  right,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  observed.  "All  right, 
just  as  you  say.  You're  the  skipper  of  this  craft  to 
night,  and  me  and  Crawford  here  are  just  passengers. 
If  you  say  we've  got  to  eat — what  is  it? — consummer 
soup — why,  I  suppose  likely  we  have.  I'll  take  my 
chances  if  Crawford  will.  Course,  if  I  was  alone  here, 
I'd  probably  stick  to  oyster  stew  and  roast  beef.  I  know 
what  they  are.  And  it's  some  comfort  to  be  sure  of 
what  you're  gettin',  as  the  sick  feller  said  when  the  doc 
tor  told  him  he  had  the  smallpox  instead  of  the  measles. 
You  don't  mind  my  callin'  you  'Crawford,'  do  you  ?"  he 
added,  turning  to  that  young  gentleman.  "I'm  old 
enough  to  be  your  father,  for  one  thing,  and  for  another 
a  handle's  all  right  on  a  jug  or  a  sasspan,  but  don't  seem 
as  if  'twas  necessary  to  take  hold  of  a  friend's  name  by. 
And  I  hope  we're  goin'  to  be  friends,  we  three." 

Crawford  said  he  hoped  so,  too,  and  he  said  it  with 
emphasis. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  Captain  with  enthusiasm. 
"And  we'll  cement  the  friendship — the  book  fellers  are 
always  tellin'  about  cementin'  friendships — with  this  sup- 

219 


MARY-'GUSTA 

per  of  ours,  eh?  If  we  only  had  some  of  Isaiah's  last 
batch  of  mincemeat  we  could  sartinly  do  it  with  that; 
it  was  the  nighest  thing  to  cement  ever  I  saw  put  on  a 
table.  I  asked  him  if  he  filled  his  pies  with  a  trowel 
and  you  ought  to  have  heard  him  sputter.  You  remem 
ber  Isaiah,  don't  you,  Crawford?  Tall,  spindlin'  critter, 
sails  cook  for  Zoeth  and  me  at  the  house  down  home. 
He  ain't  pretty,  but  his  heart's  in  the  right  place.  That's 
kind  of  strange,  too,"  he  added  with  a  chuckle,  "when 
you  consider  how  nigh  his  shoulder-blades  are  to  the  top 
of  his  legs." 

Between  his  stories  and  jokes  he  found  time  to  ask 
his  male  guest  a  few  questions  and  these  questions,  al 
though  by  no  means  offensively  personal,  were  to  the 
point.  He  inquired  concerning  the  young  man's  home 
life,  about  his  ambitions  and  plans  for  the  future,  about 
his  friends  and  intimates  at  college.  Crawford,  without 
being  in  the  least  aware  that  he  was  being  catechized, 
told  a  good  deal,  and  Captain  Shadrach's  appraising  re 
gard,  which  had  learned  to  judge  men  afloat  and  ashore, 
read  more  than  was  told.  The  appraisal  was  apparently 
satisfactory  for,  after  the  young  man  had  gone  and  the 
Captain  and  Mary  were  saying  good  night  in  the  Wyeth 
parlor,  Shadrach  said: 

"A  nice  boy,  I  should  say.  Yes,  sir,  a  real  nice  young 
feller,  as  young  fellers  go.  I  like  him  fust-rate." 

"I'm  glad,  Uncle  Shad,"  said  Mary.  "I  like  him, 
too." 

Shadrach  regarded  her  with  a  little  of  the  question 
ing  scrutiny  he  had  devoted  to  Crawford  during  din 
ner. 

"You  do,  eh?"  he  mused.     "How  much?" 

"How  much?"  repeated  Mary,  puzzled.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

220 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  mean  how  much  do  you  like  him?  More'n  you  do 
your  Uncle  Zoeth  and  me,  for  instance?" 

She  looked  up  into  his  face.  What  she  saw  there 
brought  the  color  to  her  own.  He  might  have  said  more, 
but  she  put  her  finger-tips  upon  his  lips. 

"Nonsense !"  she  said  hotly.  "What  wicked,  silly  non 
sense,  Uncle  Shad!  Don't  you  ever,  ever  say  such  a 
thing  to  me  again.  You  know  better." 

Shadrach  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"All  right,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said;  "I  won't  say  it 
again — not  till  you  say  it  to  me  fust,  at  any  rate.  There, 
there,  dearie !  Don't  blow  me  clean  out  of  the  water.  I 
was  only  jokin',  the  same  as  Isaiah  was  tryin'  to  that 
night  when  you  came  home  for  your  Christmas  vaca 
tion." 

"I  don't  like  that  kind  of  joking.    I  think  it's  silly." 

"I  guess  maybe  'tis — for  a  spell,  anyhow.  We'll  heave 
the  jokes  overboard.  Yes,  I  like  that  Crawford  Smith 
fust-rate.  But  the  funniest  thing  about  him  is  the  way 
he  reminds  me  of  somebody  else.  Who  that  somebody 
is  I  can't  make  out  nor  remember.  Maybe  I'll  think 
sometime  or  other,  but  anyhow  I  like  him  now  for  his 
own  sake.  I  asked  him  to  come  down  and  see  us  some 
time  this  summer.  Wonder  if  he  will." 

Mary-'Gusta  wondered,  too,  but  she  would  have  won 
dered  more  had  she  known  what  that  coming  summer 
was  to  mean  to  her.  The  morning  after  the  theater 
party  Captain  Shadrach  called  to  say  good-by  to  Mrs. 
Wyeth.  That  lady  asked  some  questions  and  listened 
with  interest  and  approval  to  his  report  concerning 
Crawford  Smith. 

"I'm  glad  you  were  so  favorably  impressed  with  the 
boy,"  she  said.  "As  I  told  you,  I  like  him  myself.  And 
you  approve  of  his  friendship  with  your  niece?" 

221 


MARY-'GUSTA 

The  Captain  rubbed  his  chin.  "Why,  yes,  ma'am,"  he 
said.  "I  approve  of  that,  all  right,  and  I  cal'late  Zoeth 
would,  too.  Fact  is,  where  Mary-'Gusta's  concerned 
'tain't  nothin'  but  friendship,  so  fur,  and  I  guess  likely 
'tain't  on  his  part,  either.  If  it  ever  should  be  more, 
then — well,  then,  if  he  turned  out  to  be  all  that  he'd 
ought  to  be  I  can't  see  where  we  old  folks  have  much 
right  to  put  our  oar  in,  do  you,  ma'am?" 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Wyeth  was  tired  of  the  subject ;  perhaps 
she  objected  to  being  addressed  as  one  of  the  old  folks; 
at  any  rate,  she  made  no  answer,  but  asked  a  question 
instead. 

"Captain  Gould,"  she  said,  "what  plans  have  you  and 
Mr.  Hamilton  made  for  Mary  this  summer?" 

"Plans,  ma'am?  Why,  I  don't  know's  we've  made 
any.  Of  course,  we're  countin'  on  her  corhin'  down  to 
South  Harniss  when  she  gets  through  her  school, 
and " 

"Just  a  moment,  Captain.  I  have  a  friend  who  is  very 
anxious  to  have  you  change  that  plan  for  one  of  hers. 
Come  in,  Letitia.  Captain  Gould,  this  is  my  friend,  Miss 
Pease.  Now,  Letitia,  tell  the  Captain  your  plan — the 
one  you  told  me  last  night." 

Miss  Pease  told  of  her  plan  and  Captain  Shad  lis 
tened,  at  first  with  astonishment,  then  with  a  troubled 
expression  and  at  last  with  a  combination  of  both. 

"There,"  said  Miss  Pease,  in  conclusion,  "that  is  my 
plan.  It  means  a  great  deal  to  me  and  I  hope  it  may 
mean  something  to  Mary." 

"It  will  be  a  wonderful  opportunity  for  her,"  de 
clared  Mrs.  Wyeth  emphatically. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Captain  Gould?"  asked  Miss 
Pease. 

Shadrach    drew    a    long    breath.     "I — I  don't  know 

222 


MARY-'GUSTA 

hardly  what  to  say,  ma'am,"  he  answered.  "I  can't 
hardly  realize  it  yet,  seems  so.  It  sartinly  would  be  a 
wonderful  chance  for  her  and  it's  somethin'  me  and 
Zoeth  could  never  give  her  or  think  of  givin'.  But — 
but " 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Pease,  as  he  hesitated,  "if  she 
is  needed  very  much  at  home — if  you  feel  you  cannot 

spare  her " 

'  'Tain't  that,  ma'am,"  interrupted  the  Captain  quickly. 
"Land  knows  Zoeth  and  me  would  miss  her  awful,  but 
we  wouldn't  let  that  stand  in  the  way — not  of  anything 
like  this.  But — but — well,  to  be  right  down  honest, 
ma'am,  I  don't  know's  we'd  feel  like  havin'  somebody 
else  do  so  much  for  her.  Course  we  ain't  well  off,  Zoeth 
and  I  ain't,  but  we  ain't  right  down  poor,  either.  We've 
been  used  to  doin'  for  ourselves  and " 

And  then  Miss  Pease  had  an  inspiration. 

"Oh,  dear  me !"  she  broke  in  hastily.  "I  do  hope  you 
haven't  made  a  mistake,  Captain  Gould.  I  hope  you 
don't  think  I  am  offering  this  as  a  charity  or  purely  as. 
a  favor  to  Mary.  No,  indeed !  I  am  asking  it  as  a  favor 
to  myself.  I  must  have  a  companion,  otherwise  I  cannot 
go.  And  Mary  is  just  the  companion  I  need.  I  am 
very  fond  of  her  and  I  think  she  likes  me.  I  am  not 
going  to  urge  too  much,  Captain  Gould,  but  I  do  hope 
you  will  consider  the  matter  with  Mr.  Hamilton  and  let 
me  hear  from  you  soon.  And  I  am  hoping  you  will 
consent.  I  promise  to  take  good  care  of  your  girl  and 
bring  her  back  safe  and  sound  in  September.  And  I 
shall  not  say  one  word  of  my  great  plan  to  her  until 
you  write  me  that  I  may." 

So  Captain  Shadrach,  the  troubled  expression  still  on 
his  face,  returned  on  the  afternoon  train  to  South  Har- 
niss  to  tell  his  friend  and  partner  of  Miss  Pease's  plan. 

223 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary,  who  accompanied  him  to  the  Boston  station,  won 
dered  why  he  seemed  so  preoccupied  and  quiet.  If  she 
had  known  what  his  thoughts  were  she  would  have  won 
dered  no  longer. 

Miss  Pease  planned  to  travel  through  Europe  during 
the  summer  months,  and  she  had  asked  the  Captain's 
permission  to  take  Mary  with  her  as  her  guest  and  friend 
and  companion. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IF  time  and  space  did  not  matter,  and  if  even  more 
important  happenings  in  Mary-'Gusta's  life  were  not 
as  close  at  hand  to  claim  attention,  it  would  be  in 
teresting  to  describe  at  length  those  of  that  spring  and  the 
summer  which  followed  it.    Summarized  in  chronological 
order,  they  were  these:     First,  the  lengthy  discussions 
between  the  partners  concerning  Miss  Pease's  plan,  dis 
cussions  which  ended  by  Zoeth,  as  senior  partner,  writing 
Miss  Pease: 

Shadrach  and  I  say  yes.  We  ought  to  have  said  it  afore  but 
flesh  is  weak  and  we  found  it  kind  of  hard  to  make  up  our 
minds  to  spare  our  girl  all  summer.  But  we  know  we  ought 
to  spare  her  and  that  it  will  be  a  splendid  chance  for  her. 
So  we  say  she  shall  go  and  we  thank  you  more  than  we 
can  say.  She  will  need  clothes  and  fixings  to  take  with  her 
and  Shadrach  and  I  wish  to  ask  if  you  will  be  kind  enough 
to  help  her  pick  out  what  she  needs.  Maybe  Mrs.  Wyeth 
will  help  too.  It  will  be  a  great  favor  if  you  two  will  do 
this,  Shadrach  and  I  not  being  much  good  at  such  things. 
We  will  send  the  money  and  will  pay  for  all. 

Then  came  the  breaking  of  the  news  to  Mary  herself. 
At  first,  after  she  could  be  made  to  believe  the  whole 
idea  a  perfectly  serious  one  and  realized  that  a  trip  to 
Europe — her  dearest  day-dream,  even  when  a  little  girl, 
and  the  favorite  play  with  the  dolls  in  the  attic  at  South 
Harniss — when  she  at  last  realized  the  opportunity  that 

225 


MARY-'GUSTA 

was  hers,  even  then  she  hesitated  to  accept  it.  There 
were  her  uncles — they  needed  her  so  much  in  the  store — 
they  would  miss  her  so  dreadfully.  She  could  not  go 
and  leave  them.  The  united  efforts  of  Miss  Pease  and 
Mrs.  Wyeth  could  not  alter  her  determination  to  remain 
at  home;  only  a  joint  declaration,  amounting  to  a  com 
mand  and  signed  by  both  partners  of  Hamilton  and  Com 
pany,  had  that  effect.  She  consented  then,  but  with  re 
luctance. 

The  steamer  sailed  from  Boston — Miss  Pease's  civic 
loyalty  forbade  her  traveling  on  a  New  York  boat— on 
the  thirtieth  of  June,  the  week  after  Commencement. 
Mary  and  Mrs.  Wyeth  attended  the  Commencement  ex 
ercises  and  festivities  as  Crawford's  guest.  Edwin 
Smith,  Crawford's  father,  did  not  come  on  from  Carson 
City  to  see  his  son  receive  his  parchment  from  his  Alma 
Mater.  He  had  planned  to  come — Crawford  had  begun 
to  believe  he  might  come — but  at  the  last  moment  illness 
had  prevented.  It  was  nothing  serious,  he  wrote;  he 
would  be  well  and  hearty  when  the  boy  came  West  after 
graduating. 

God  bless  you,  son  [the  letter  ended].  If  you  knew  what 
it  means  for  your  old  dad  to  stay  away  you'd  forgive  him 
for  being  in  the  doctor's  care.  Come  home  quick  when  it's 
over.  There's  a  four-pound  trout  waiting  for  one  of  us  up 
in  the  lake  country  somewhere.  It's  up  to  you  or  me  to  get 
him. 

Crawford  showed  the  letter  to  Mary.  He  was  disap 
pointed,  but  not  so  much  so  as  the  girl  expected. 

"I  never  really  dared  to  count  on  his  coming,"  he  ex 
plained.  "It  has  been  this  way  so  many  times.  When 
ever  Dad  has  planned  to  come  East  something  happens 

226 


MARY-'GUSTA 

to  prevent.  Now  it  has  happened  again;  I  was  almost 
sure  it  would.  It's  a  shame !  I  wanted  you  to  meet 
him.  And  I  wanted  him  to  meet  you,  too,"  he  added. 

Mary  also  was  a  little  disappointed.  She  had  rather 
looked  forward  to  meeting  Mr.  Smith.  He  was  her 
friend's  father,  of  course,  and  that  of  itself  made  him 
an  interesting  personality,  but  there  was  something  more 
— a  sort  of  mystery  about  him,  inspired  in  her  mind  by 
the  photograph  which  Crawford  had  shown  her,  which 
made  her  curious.  The  man  in  the  photograph  resem 
bled  Crawford,  of  course,  but  she  had  the  feeling  that  he 
resembled  someone  else  even  more — someone  she  had 
known  or  whose  picture  she  had  seen.  She  was  sorry 
she  was  not  to  meet  him. 

Commencement  was  a  wonderful  time.  Mary  was  in 
troduced  to  dozens  of  young  fellows,  attended  spreads 
and  sings  and  proms,  danced  a  great  deal,  was  asked  to 
dance  ever  so  much  more,  chatted  and  laughed  and  en 
joyed  herself  as  a  healthy,  happy,  and  pretty  girl  should 
enjoy  a  college  commencement.  And  on  the  following 
Tuesday  she  and  Miss  Pease,  looking  down  from  the 
steamer's  deck,  waved  their  handkerchiefs  to  Mrs.  Wy- 
eth  and  Zoeth  and  Captain  Shadrach  and  Crawford 
who,  standing  on  the  wharf,  waved  theirs  in  return  as 
the  big  ship  moved  slowly  out  of  the  dock  and  turned 
her  nose  toward  Minot's  Light  and  the  open  sea.  For 
the  first  time  since  Hamilton  and  Company  put  up  a  sign 
both  partners  had  come  to  Boston  together. 

"Annabel's  keepin'  store,"  explained  Shadrach,  "and 
Isaiah's  helpin'.  It'll  be  the  blind  leadin'  the  blind,  I  car- 
late,  but  we  don't  care,  do  we,  Zoeth?  We  made  up 
our  mind  we'd  see  you  off,  Mary-'Gusta,  if  we  had  to 
swim  to  Provincetown  and  send  up  sky-rockets  from 
Race  P'int  to  let  you  know  we  was  there.  Don't  forget 

227 


MARY-'GUSTA 

what  I  told  you:  If  you  should  get  as  fur  as  Leghorn 
be  sure  and  hunt  up  that  ship-chandler  name  of  Peroti. 
Ask  him  if  he  remembers  Shad  Gould  that  he  knew  in 
'65.  If  he  ain't  dead  I  bet  you  he'll  remember." 

So  Mary-'Gusta  sailed  away  and  for  ten  marvelous 
weeks  daydreams  came  true  and  attic  make-believes 
turned  to  realities.  War  had  not  yet  come  to  sow  its 
seed  of  steel  and  fire  and  reap  its  harvest  of  blood  and 
death  upon  the  fair  valleys  and  hills  of  France,  and  the 
travelers  journeyed  leisurely  from  village  to  cathedral 
town  and  from  the  Seine  to  the  Loire.  They  spent  three 
weeks  in  Switzerland  and  two  in  Italy,  returning  for  the 
final  week  to  London  where,  under  Miss  Pease's  expert 
guidance,  Mary  visited  the  shops,  the  big  ones  on  Regent 
and  Oxford  Streets  and  the  smaller,  equally  fascinating 
— and  more  expensive — ones  on  Bond  Street  and  Picca 
dilly,  buying  presents  and  remembrances  for  the  folks 
at  home.  And,  at  last,  came  the  day  when,  leaning  upon 
the  rail,  she  saw  the  misty  headlands  of  Ireland  sink  be 
neath  the  horizon  and  realized  that  her  wonderful  holi 
day  was  over  and  that  she  was  homeward  bound. 

The  voyage  was  rather  rough  and  stormy,  as  westerly 
voyages  are  likely  to  be,  but  the  ship  was  comfortable 
and  speedy  and  they  made  good  time.  Mary  spent  but 
one  day  in  Boston  and,  on  the  morning  of  the  next, 
started  for  South  Harniss.  She  had  one  week  before 
school  opened  and  that  week  was  to  be  spent  with  her 
uncles;  no  one  else,  she  vowed,  should  have  a  minute 
of  it. 

.Great  were  the  rejoicings  in  the  white  house  by  the 
shore  that  day,  and  marvelous  was  the  dinner  Isaiah 
served  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  Mary  was  obliged  to 
relate  the  story  of  her  trip  from  start  to  finish,  while 
three  rapt  listeners  nodded  and  exclaimed  in  sympathy 

228 


MARY-'GUSTA 

or  broke  in  to  ask  questions.  She  had  written  faithfully, 
but,  as  Isaiah  said,  "writin'  ain't  tellin'."  So  Mary  told 
and  her  uncles  and  Mr.  Chase  listened  and  questioned. 
It  was  twelve  o'clock  that  night  before  anyone  thought 
of  going  to  bed,  and  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table 
the  questioning  began  all  over  again. 

"Mrs.  Wyeth  was  down  at  the  dock,  I  presume  likely, 
to  meet  you  when  your  ship  made  port?"  queried  Zoeth. 

"Yes,  she  was  there,"  replied  Mary. 

"Anybody  else?  How  about  that  young  Smith  feller? 
Wa'n't  he  there,  too?"  asked  Captain  Shadrach  with 
elaborate  innocence. 

Mary  colored  just  a  little.  She  knew  it  was  foolish; 
there  was  no  reason  in  the  world  why  she  should  be 
embarrassed,  but  she  could  not  help  it. 

"No,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  answered.  "He  wasn't  there. 
He  has  not  returned  from  the  West  yet,  but  he  will 
be  in  Boston  next  week  when  the  Medical  College 
opens." 

"Been  havin'  a  good  time  out  West  there,  has  he?" 
inquired  the  Captain,  still  with  studied  unconcern. 

"Yes.  At  least  he  writes  me  that  he  has."  She  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  of  her  trio  of  listeners  and  then 
added:  "I  have  some  of  his  letters  here  with  me.  If 
you'd  like  to  hear  them  I'll  read  them  aloud." 

"No,  no,  you  needn't  do  that,"  protested  Shadrach 
hastily.  But  after  another  look  at  him  Mary  said,  "I 
think  I  will,"  and  departed  in  search  of  the  letters. 

Captain  Shad,  looking  a  trifle  guilty,  glanced  at  his 
partner. 

"She  needn't  read  'em  unless  she  wants  to,  need  she, 
Zoeth  ?"  he  said.  "I — I  didn't  mean  for  her  to  do  that." 

Mr.  Hamilton's  face  expressed  doubt  and  disapproval. 

"Humph !"  he  said  and  that  was  all. 
229 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary  returned  bearing  the  packet  of  letters,  some  of 
which  she  proceeded  to  read.  Crawford  had  spent  the 
summer  either  at  his  home  in  Carson  City  or  in  camping 
with  his  father  in  the  Sierras,  where  he  had  shot  and 
fished  and  apparently  enjoyed  himself  hugely.  The  let 
ters  were  frank  and  straightforward,  full  of  fun  and 
exuberance,  the  sort  of  letters  a  robust,  clean-minded 
young  fellow  ought  to  write  and  sometimes  does.  They 
were  not  sentimental;  even  Isaiah,  with  what  Captain 
Shadrach  termed  his  "lovesick  imagination,"  would  not 
have  called  them  so. 

The  partners  and  Mr.  Chase  listened  with  interest  to 
the  reading  of  the  letters  and  expressed  their  approval. 
Shadrach's  applause  was  loudest  of  all,  but  he  seemed 
to  find  difficulty  in  meeting  his  niece's  eye.  Just  before 
bedtime,  after  Zoeth  and  Isaiah  had  gone  upstairs  and 
he  was  locking  up  for  the  night,  Mary,  whom  he  supposed 
had  gone  also,  reentered  the  dining-room  and  stood  be 
fore  him. 

"Uncle  Shad,"  she  said  severely,  "come  here  a  minute 
and  sit  down.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

She  led  him  to  the  big  rocker.  Then  she  took  the  lit 
tle  one  beside  it. 

"Now,  look  me  in  the  face,"  she  commanded.  "No," 
not  out  of  the  window — here.  Um  .  .  .  yes.  I  don't 
wonder  you  turn  red.  I  should  think  you  might  be 
ashamed." 

"I — I — what's  that?"  stammered  Shadrach,  turning 
redder  than  ever.  "What  do  you  mean  ?  Turnin'  red ! 
Who's  turnin'  red?" 

"You  are,"  said  the  young  lady,  firmly,  "and  you 
know  it.  Now,  look  me  straight  in  the  eye.  Uncle 
Shad  Gould,  don't  you  think  it  would  have  been  more 
honorable,  if  you  wished  to  know  whether  Crawford 

230 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Smith  and  I  corresponded,  to  have  asked  me  instead  of 
hinting?    Don't  you  think  it  would?" 

"Hintin'?  Why — why,  Mary-'Gusta,  what — 
what ?" 

His  face  was  a  study  in  expression.  Mary  bit  her  lip, 
but  she  managed  to  appear  solemn. 

"Yes,  hinting,"  she  said.  "Instead  of  asking  if  Craw 
ford  and  I  had  written  each  other  you  hinted.  Well, 
now  you  know  that  we  did  write,  and  have  heard  his  let 
ters  to  me,  have  you  any  objection?" 

"Objection?  No,  no,  course  not.  Why — I — I  think 
'twas  a  fine  thing.  I — I  like  to  get  letters;  a  heap  bet 
ter  than  I  do  to  write  'em,"  he  added  truthfully. 

"Then  why?" 

"Well— well— I— I " 

"And  aren't  you  ashamed?"  repeated  Mary. 

"Why — why,  yes,  by  the  jumpin'  fire,  I  am!  There! 
I  was  ashamed  when  I  done  it." 

"Then  why  did  you  do  it?" 

"Well — well,  you  see,  Mary-'Gusta,  I  just  wanted  to 
know.  Your  Uncle  Zoeth  and  me  have  been  actin'  as 
your  pilots  for  a  consider'ble  spell.  Course  you're  get- 
tin'  big  enough  now  to  cruise  on  your  own  hook — that 
is,  in  reason,  you  understand — but — but — well,  we've  got 
so  used  to  takin'  an  observation  every  noontime,  seein' 
how  you're  layin'  your  course,  you  know,  that  it's  hard 
to  lose  the  habit.  Not  that  Zoeth  was  in  on  this,"  he 
added  honestly.  "He  didn't  do  any  of  the  hintin',  as 
you  call  it.  I  imagine  he'll  preach  my  head  off  for  doin' 
it,  when  he  gets  me  alone." 

"You  deserve  to  have  it  preached  off — or  partly  off, 
at  any  rate.  Do  you  beg  my  pardon?" 

"Sartin  sure.  I'd  beg  it  on  my  bended  knees  if  'twa'n't 
for  the  rheumatiz." 

231 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"And  you  won't  hint  any  more?" 

"Nary  a  hint." 

"That's  right.  If  you  want  me  to  tell  you  anything, 
please  ask.  You  must  trust  me,  Uncle  Shad.  I  shall 
always  tell — when  there  is  anything  to  tell/' 

"I  know  you  will,  Mary-'Gusta.  I'm  ashamed  of  my 
hintin'.  God  bless  you,  dearie.  Now  kiss  me  good 
night." 

He  kissed  her  and,  holding  her  in  his  arms,  looked 
fondly  down  into  her  eyes.  And,  as  she  returned  his 
look,  suddenly  she  blushed  crimson  and  hid  her  face  in 
his  jacket.  Then  she  broke  away  and  with  a  good 
night  ran  from  the  room  and  up  the  stairs. 

Shadrach  looked  after  her,  sighed,  and,  after  finishing 
his  locking  up,  went  upstairs  himself.  There  was  a 
light  in  his  partner's  room  and  he  entered  to  find  Mr. 
Hamilton  sitting  at  the  little  table  with  several  sheets 
of  paper  covered  with  figures  spread  out  before  him. 
The  Captain  was  so  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  that, 
for  the  moment,  he  did  not  notice  the  papers. 

"Zoeth,"  he  said,  "our  Mary-'Gusta's  changed  into  a 
grown-up  woman.  Even  this  last  summer  has  changed 
her.  She  don't  look  any  older,  and  she's  prettier  than 
ever,  but  she  thinks  different,  and  I  have  a  notion  that, 
no  matter  how  much  we  may  want  to,  you  and  me  ain't 

goin'  to  be  able  to  keep  her  to  ourselves  as  we Eh  ?" 

suddenly  becoming  aware  of  his  friend's  occupation. 
"Are  you  still  fussin'  over  those  things?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  not  to  worry  any  more,  but  to  turn  in  and  sleep  ?" 

Zoeth  shook  his  head.  His  usually  placid,  gentle  face 
had  lost  some  of  its  placidity.  He  looked  worn  and 
worried  and  the  shadows  thrown  by  the  lamp  deepened 
the  lines  in  his  forehead.  He  looked  up  over  his  spectacles. 

"Shadrach,"  he  said,  "I  can't  help  it.  I  try  not  to 
232 


"  'She  mustn't  know  we're  worried' " 


MARY-'GUSTA 

worry  and  I  try  to  heave  my  burdens  onto  the  Almighty, 
same  as  we're  commanded,  but  I  can't  seem  to  heave 
the  whole  of  'em  there.  If  things  don't  pick  up  pretty 
soon,  I  don't  know — I  don't  know — and  I  don't  dare 
think,"  he  added  despairingly. 

The  sheet  of  paper  he  was  holding  rattled  as  his  hand 
shook.  Captain  Shad  scowled. 

"If  we  didn't  have  our  winter  goods  to  buy,"  he  mut 
tered.  "Our  credit's  good,  that's  one  comfort." 

"It  is  up  to  now,  because  the  Boston  folks  don't  know. 
But  we  know,  or  we're  afraid  we  know,  and  that  makes 
it  worse.  How  can  we  go  on  buyin'  from  folks  that  has 
stood  our  friends  ever  since  we  went  into  business, 
knowin'  as  we  do  that " 

His  partner  interrupted. 

"We  don't  know  anything  yet,"  he  declared.  "Keep  a 
stiff  upper  lip,  Zoeth.  Nine  chances  to  one  we'll  weather 
it  all  right.  What  a  summer  this  has  been !  And  when 
I  think,"  he  added  savagely,  "of  how  well  we  got  along 
afore  those  new  stores  came  it  makes  me  nigh  crazy. 
I'll  go  out  with  a  card  of  matches  some  night  and  burn 
'em  down.  Damn  pirates !  Callin'  themselves  good  Cape 
Cod  names — names  that  don't  belong  to  'em!  Baker's 
Bazaar!  Ugh!  Rheinstein's  Robbers'  Roost  would  be 
nigher  the  truth.  .  .  .  Say,  Zoeth,  we  mustn't  hint  a 
word  to  Mary-'Gusta  about  this.  We've  got  cash  enough 
on  hand  to  pay  her  clearance  charges  up  there  at  school, 
ain't  we?" 

"Yes,  Shadrach,  I've  looked  out  for  that.  I  don't 
know's  I'd  ought  to.  The  money  maybe  had  ought  to 
go  somewheres  else,  but — but  right  or  wrong  it's  goin* 
for  her  and  I  hope  the  Lord'll  forgive  me.  And  what 
you  say's  true,  she  mustn't  know  we're  worried.  She's 
so  conscientious  she  might  be  for  givin'  up  her  schoolin' 

233 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  comin'  down  here  to  help  us.    She'd  be  just  as  liable 
to  do  it  as  not." 

"You're  right,  she  would.  Good  thing  she  thinks  she's 
got  money  of  her  own  and  that  that  money  is  payin'  her 
schoolin'  bills.  She'd  be  frettin'  all  the  time  about  the 
expense  if  'twa'n't  for  that.  You  and  I  must  pretend 
everything's  lovely  and  the  goose  hangin'  high  when  she's 
around.  And  we  mustn't  let  Isaiah  drop  any  hints." 

"No.  Isaiah  has  asked  me  two  or  three  times  lately 
if  the  new  stores  was  hurtin'  our  trade.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  had  some  suspicions  down  inside  him." 

"Umph!  Well,  that's  all  right,  so  long  as  they  stay 
inside.  If  I  see  signs  of  one  of  those  suspicions  risin' 
above  his  Adam's  apple  I'll  choke  'em  down  again.  I'll 
put  a  flea  in  Isaiah's  ear,  and  I'll  put  mucilage  on  its  feet 
so's  'twill  stick  there." 

So  although  Mary  did  notice  that  the  two  new  shops 
in  the  village  seemed  to  be  prospering  and  that  business 
at  Hamilton  and  Company's  was  not  rushing  even  for  Sep 
tember,  the  answers  to  her  questions  were  so  reassuring 
that  her  uneasiness  was  driven  away.  Her  Uncle  Zoeth 
evaded  direct  reply  and  Captain  Shadrach  prevaricated 
whole-heartedly  and  cheerfully.  Even  Isaiah  declared 
that  "everything  and  all  hands  was  doin'  fine."  But 
Mary  made  him  promise  that  should  it  ever  be  otherwise 
than  fine  he  would  write  her  immediately.  He  gave  the 
promise  with  some  reluctance. 

"I  cal'late  if  Cap'n  Shad  caught  me  tellin'  tales  out 
of  school  he'd  go  to  work  and  turn  to  and  bust  me  over 
the  head  with  a  marlinespike,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  with  the 
air  of  one  stating  a  fact. 

Mary  laughed.  "Oh,  no,  he  wouldn't,"  she  declared. 
"I'll  stand  back  of  you,  Isaiah.  Now  mind,  you  are  to 
keep  me  posted  on  just  how  things  are  here." 

234 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MARY  went  back  to  Boston  and  to  school,  where 
old  acquaintances  were  renewed  and  new  ones 
made.  The  Misses  Cabot  welcomed  her  with 
fussy  and  dignified  condescension.  Barbara  Howe  hugged 
and  kissed  her  and  vowed  she  had  not  seen  a  girl  all 
summer  who  was  half  so  sweet. 

"Why  in  the  world  someone  doesn't  run  off  with  you 
and  marry  you  this  very  minute  I  cannot  see,"  declared 
the  vivacious  young  lady.  "If  I  were  a  man  /  should." 

Mary,  who  was  used  to  Miss  Howe's  outbursts,  merely 
smiled. 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,"  she  replied.  "I  should  hope 
you  would  be  more  sensible.  No  one  will  run  off  with 
me;  at  least  I  wouldn't  run  off  with  them." 

"Why  not  ?  Don't  you  think  an  elopement  is  perfectly 
splendid — so  romantic  and  all  that?  Suppose  you  were 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  someone  and  his  people 
were  dead  set  against  his  marrying  you,  wouldn't  you 
elope  then?" 

"I  think  I  shouldn't.  I  think  I  should  try  to  find  out 
why  they  were  so  opposed  to  me.  Perhaps  there  might 
be  some  good  reason.  If  there  were  no  good  reason, 
then — why,  then — well,  I  don't  know.  But  I  should 
hesitate  a  long  while  before  I  came  between  a  person 
and  his  family.  It  must  be  dreadful  to  do  that." 

Barbara  laughed.  "Nonsense!"  she  cried.  "It's  done 
every  day  in  the  best  families,  my  dear.  And  then  the 

235 


MARY-'GUSTA 

reconciliation  is  all  the  sweeter.  You  just  wait!  Some 
of  these  days  I  expect  to  read:  'Elopement  in  South 
Harniss  High  Life.  Beautiful  Society  Maiden  Weds 
Famous  Former  Football — er — er — I  want  another  F — 
Oh,  yes,  Famous  Former  Football  Favorite.'  Isn't  that 
beautiful  ?  Dear  me,  how  you  blush !  Or  is  it  sunburn  ? 
At  any  rate,  it's  very  becoming." 

The  Famous  Former  Football  Favorite  called  at  Mrs. 
Wyeth's  on  the  evening  following  that  of  Mary's  return 
to  Boston.  He  was  as  big  and  brown  as  ever  and  de 
clared  that  he  had  had  a  wonderful  vacation. 

"And  you're  looking  awfully  well,  too,"  he  exclaimed, 
inspecting  her  from  head  to  foot.  "She  is,  isn't  she, 
Mrs.  Wyeth?" 

Mrs.  Wyeth  admitted  that  she  thought  so.  Crawford 
nodded  emphatically. 

"By  George,  you  are!"  he  repeated. 

There  was  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity.  In  fact,  the 
admiration  in  his  voice  and  look  was  so  obvious  and  un 
concealed  that  Mary,  although  she  could  not  help  being 
pleased,  was  a  little  embarrassed.  The  embarrassment 
wore  away,  however,  when  he  began  to  tell  of  his  sum 
mer  in  the  Sierras  and  to  ask  for  additional  particulars 
concerning  her  European  trip.  He  stayed  longer  than 
usual  that  evening  and  came  again  a  few  evenings  later 
— to  show  them  some  photographs  he  had  taken  in  the 
mountains,  so  he  said.  And  the  following  Sunday  he 
dropped  in  to  accompany  them  to  church.  And — but  why 
particularize  ?  Perhaps  it  will  be  sufficient  to  say  that  dur 
ing  that  fall  and  winter  the  boy  and  girl  friendship  pro 
gressed  as  such  friendships  are  likely  to  do.  Miss  Pease, 
the  romantic,  nodded  and  looked  wise  and  even  Mrs. 
Wyeth  no  longer  resented  her  friend's  looks  and  insinu 
ations  with  the  same  indignant  certainty  of  denial. 

236 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  don't  know,  Letitia,"  she  admitted.  "I  don't  know. 
I'm  beginning  to  think  he  cares  for  her  and  may  be  really 
serious  about  it.  Whether  or  not  she  cares  for  him  is 
quite  another  thing  and  I  am  sure  I  shan't  presume  to 
guess.  If  she  does  she  keeps  it  to  herself,  as  she  does 
so  many  other  things.  She  knows  how  to  mind  her 
own  business  and  that  is  a  gift  possessed  by  few,  Leti 
tia  Pease." 

Mary  went  home  for  the  Christmas  vacation  and 
spent  the  holidays,  as  she  had  spent  those  of  the  pre 
vious  year,  in  helping  her  uncles  at  the  store.  The 
Christmas  trade,  although  not  so  brisk  as  she  had  seen 
it,  was  not  so  bad  as  to  alarm  her,  and  the  partners  were 
optimistic  as  ever.  Isaiah,  who  had  been  talked  to  like 
a  Dutch  uncle  by  Captain  Shad  and  was  consequently 
in  deadly  fear  of  the  latter's  wrath,  declared  that  as  far 
as  he  could  see  everything  was  all  right.  So  Mary  left 
South  Harniss  and  returned  to  school  and  the  duties  of 
the  winter  term  with  few  misgivings  concerning  matters 
at  home.  Crawford  met  her  at  the  train  and  came  to  the 
Pinckney  Street  house  that  evening  to  hear  the  news 
from  the  Cape.  It  was  surprising,  the  interest  in  Cape 
Cod  matters  manifested  of  late  by  that  young  man. 

On  a  day  in  early  April,  Mary,  hurrying  to  Mrs.  Wy- 
eth's  after  school,  found  a  letter  awaiting  her.  She 
glanced  at  the  postmark,  which  was  South  Harniss,  and 
the  handwriting,  which  was  Isaiah's,  and  then  laid  it 
aside  to  be  read  later  on  at  her  leisure.  After  many 
postponements  and  with  considerable  reluctance  she  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  with  Barbara  Howe  at 
the  latter's  home  in  Brookline  and  this  evening  was  the 
time  appointed.  It  would  be  her  first  plunge  into  so 
ciety — the  home  life  of  society,  that  is.  The  Howes 
were  an  old  family,  wealthy  and  well-connected,  and 

237 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary  could  not  help  feeling  somewhat  nervous  at  the 
ordeal  before  her.  She  knew  something  of  the  number 
and  variety  of  expensive  gowns  possessed  by  her  young 
hostess  and  her  own  limited  wardrobe  seemed  doubly 
limited  and  plain  by  comparison.  But  she  summoned 
her  unfailing  common  sense  to  her  rescue  and  found 
consolation  in  the  fact  that  Barbara  and  her  people  knew 
she  was,  comparatively  speaking,  a  poor  girl,  and  there 
fore  could  hardly  have  invited  her  with  the  expectation 
of  seeing  her  arrayed  in  fine  clothes.  And  if  they  had 
done  so — here  was  a  bit  of  the  old  Mary-'Gusta  philoso 
phy — their  opinion  was  not  worth  consideration  anyhow, 
and  the  sooner  they  and  she  reached  mutual  disgust  and 
parting  the  better. 

But  although  her  best  gown  was  not  new  nor  ex 
pensive,  and  her  jewels  were  conspicuous  by  their  ab 
sence,  the  picture  she  made  as  she  stood  before  the 
mirror  giving  the  last  touches  to  her  hair  was  distinctly 
not  an  unpleasing  one.  Maggie,  the  maid,  who  entered 
the  room  to  announce  a  caller,  was  extravagant  in  her 
praises. 

"Ah,  sure,  Miss,  you  look  fine,"  she  declared.  "You're 
that  sweet  one  look  at  you  would  sugar  a  cup  of  tea. 
Ah,  he'll  be  that  proud  of  you  and  he  ought  to  be,  too. 
But  he's  a  fine  young  man,  and " 

"Who?  What  are  you  talking  about,  Maggie?"  in 
terrupted  Mary.  "Who  will  be  proud  of  me  and  who 
is  a  fine  young  fellow?" 

"Who?  Why,  Mr.  Smith,  of  course;  who  else?  He's 
down  in  the  parlor  waitin'  for  you  now.  I'll  tell  him 
you'll  be  down." 

Before  Mary  could  stop  her  she  had  left  the  room 
and  was  on  her  way  downstairs.  Mary  followed  a  mo 
ment  later.  She  had  not  expected  a  visit  from  Craw- 

238 


MARY-'GUSTA 

ford,  who  had  called  already  that  week.  She  won 
dered  why  he  had  come. 

She  found  him  in  the  parlor.  Mrs.  Wyeth  was  out 
shopping  with  Miss  Pease,  and  he  and  she  were  alone. 
He  rose  to  meet  her  as  she  entered. 

"Why,  Crawford,"  she  said,  "what  is  the  matter? 
Has  anything  happened?  Why  do  you  look  so  seri 
ous?" 

He  smiled  ruefully.  "I  guess  because  I  am  rather 
serious,"  he  answered.  "I've  had  some  news  and  I 
came  to  tell  you  about  it."  Then,  noticing  her  gown, 
he  added:  "But  you're  going  out,  aren't  you?" 

"I  am  going  out  by  and  by.  I  am  going  to  dine 
and  spend  the  evening  with  Barbara  Howe.  But  I 
am  not  going  yet.  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"I  will  if  you're  sure  you  can  spare  the  time.  I 
hope  you  can,  because — well,  because  I  do  want  to 
talk  to  you.  I've  had  bad  news  from  home.  My 
father  is  ill — and  in  the  doctor's  care." 

"Oh,   I'm   so   sorry.     I   hope  it  isn't  serious." 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  is  or  not.  It  can't  be 
desperately  serious,  because  he  wrote  the  letter  himself. 
But  at  any  rate  it's  serious  enough  for  me.  He  wants 
me  to  give  up  my  work  here  at  the  Harvard  Medical 
and  come  West." 

Mary  gasped.  "Give  it  up !"  she  repeated.  "Give  up 
your  studies?  Give  up  medicine?  Surely  he  doesn't 
want  you  to  do  that!" 

Crawford  shook  his  head.  "No,  not  quite  that,"  he 
replied.  "I  wouldn't  do  that,  even  for  him.  But  he 
writes  that  he  is  not  well  and  is  not  likely  to  be  better 
for  a  good  while,  if  ever,  and  he  would  be  very  much 
happier  if  I  were  nearer  at  hand.  He  wants  me  to  give 
up  here  at  the  Harvard  Med.  and  take  up  my  work  again 

239 


MARY-'GUSTA 

at  Denver  or  Salt  Lake  City  or  somewhere  out  there. 
Even  Chicago  would  seem  much  nearer,  he  says.  It's  a 
pitiful  sort  of  letter.  The  old  chap  seems  dreadfully 
down  in  the  dumps.  He  wants  me,  that's  plain  enough, 
and  he  seems  to  think  he  needs  me.  Says  if  I  were  at 
Denver  I  could  come  home  every  little  while,  whereas 
here  I  can't.  What  ought  I  to  do?  I  hate  to  say  no, 
and  I  hate  just  as  much  to  say  yes." 

Mary  considered. 

"I  think  you  must  decide  for  yourself,"  she  said  after 
a  moment.  "You  have  your  career  to  consider,  of 
course." 

"Yes,  I  have.  But,  to  be  perfectly  honest,  I  suppose 
my  career  would  not  be  influenced  greatly  if  I  went. 
There  are  plenty  of  good  medical  colleges  in  the  West. 
It  is  only  that  I  am  a  Harvard  man  and  I  hoped  to  finish 
at  the  Harvard  school,  that  is  all.  But  I  could  go.  What 
do  you  advise?" 

Again  Mary  took  time  for  consideration.  Her  face 
now  was  as  grave  as  his.  At  last  she  said,  without  rais 
ing  her  eyes :  "I  think  you  ought  to  go." 

He  groaned.  "I  was  afraid  you  would  say  that,"  he 
admitted.  "And  I  suppose  you  are  right." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  am.  If  your  father  needs  you  and 
wants  you,  and  if  your  career  will  not  be  influenced  for 
harm,  I — well,  I  think  you  should  do  as  he  wishes." 

"And  my  own  wishes  shouldn't  count,  I  suppose?" 

"Why,  no,  not  in  this  case ;  not  much,  at  any  rate.  Do 
you  think  they  should?" 

"Perhaps  not.     But — but  yours?" 

"Mine?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  want  me  to  go  away?"  He  leaned 
forward  in  his  chair  and  repeated  earnestly:  "Do  you, 
Mary?" 

240 


MARY-'GUSTA 

She  looked  at  him  and  her  eyes  fell  before  the  look 
in  his.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  quickly  and  she  glanced 
apprehensively  toward  the  partly  opened  door.  He  rose 
and  closed  it.  Then  he  came  close  to  her. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "do  you  know  why  this 
appeal  of  Dad's  has  hit  me  so  very  hard?  Why  it  is 
going  to  be  so  mighty  difficult  to  say  yes  and  leave  here? 
It  isn't  because  I  hate  to  give  up  Harvard.  I  do  hate 
that,  of  course,  but  I'd  do  it  in  a  minute  for  Dad.  It 
isn't  that.  It's  because  I  can't — I  just  can't  think  of 
leaving  you.  You  have  come  to  be " 

She  interrupted.  "Please  don't,"  she  begged. 
"Please!" 

He  went  on,  unheeding: 

"You  have  come  to  mean  about  all  there  is  in  life  for 
me,"  he  declared.  "It  isn't  money  or  success  or  reputa 
tion  I've  been  working  and  plugging  for  these  last  few 
months;  it's  just  you.  I  didn't  think  so  once — I  used 
to  think  such  things  were  just  in  books — but  now  I 
know.  I  love  you,  Mary." 

Again  she  protested.  "Oh,  Crawford,"  she  begged, 
"please!" 

"No;  you've  got  to  hear  me.  It's  true;  I  love  you, 
and  if  you  can  care  for  me,  I  am  going  to  marry  you. 
Not  now,  of  course ;  I've  got  my  way  to  make  first ;  but 
some  day,  if  I  live." 

His  teeth  set  in  the  determined  fashion  she  had 
learned  to  know  meant  unswerving  purpose.  She  looked 
up,  saw  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  for  the  instant 
forgot  everything  except  her  pride  in  him  and  her  joy 
that  she  should  have  awakened  such  feelings.  Then  she 
remembered  other  things,  things  which  she  had  spent 
many  hours  of  many  nights  in  debating  and  considering. 
As  he  bent  toward  her  she  evaded  him  and  rose. 

241 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Don't,  Crawford !  Please !"  she  said  again.  "You 
mustn't  say  such  things  to  me.  It  isn't  right  that  you 
should." 

He  looked  puzzled.  "Why  not?"  he  asked.  "At  any 
rate,  right  or  wrong,  I  must  say  them,  Mary.  I've  been 
holding  them  in  for  months  and  now  I've  just  got  to 
say  them.  I  love  you  and  I  want  to  marry  you.  May 
I?" 

"Oh,  no,  Crawford!     No!     It  is  impossible." 

"Impossible!  Why?  Is  it — is  it  because  you  don't 
care  for  me?  Don't  you,  Mary?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Don't  you  ?"  he  repeated.  "Look  at  me !  Can't  you 
care,  Mary?" 

She  was  silent.  But  when  he  took  a  step  toward  her 
she  raised  her  hands  in  protest. 

"Please  don't!"  she  pleaded.  "No,  you  mustn't — 
we  mustn't  think — Oh,  no,  it  is  impossible!" 

"It  isn't  impossible.  If  you  love  me  as  I  do  you 
it  is  the  only  possible  thing  in  the  world.  Listen, 
dear " 

"Hush!  I  mustn't  listen.  Be  sensible,  Crawford! 
Think!  We  are  both  so  young.  You  are  only  begin 
ning  your  studies.  It  will  be  years  before  you  can — 
before  you  should  consider  marrying." 

"But  we  can  wait.  I  am  willing  to  wait  if  you  will 
only  promise  to  wait  for  me.  I'll  work — how  I'll  work ! 
—and " 

"I  know,  but  we  both  have  others  besides  ourselves 
to  consider.  I  have  my  uncles.  They  have  done  every 
thing  for  me.  And  you  have  your  father.  Does  he 
know — about  me — about  what  you  have  just  said  to 
me?" 

And  now  Crawford  hesitated.  Not  long,  but  long 
242 


MARY-'GUSTA 

enough  for  Mary  to  know  what  the  answer  would  be 
before  it  was  spoken. 

"He  doesn't  know,"  she  said.  "I  thought  not.  Do 
you  think  he  will  approve?" 

"I  hope  he  will.  There  is  every  reason  why  he 
should  and  absolutely  none  why  he  shouldn't.  Of 
course  he'll  approve;  he's  sensible." 

"Yes,  but  he  may  have  plans  of  his  own  for  you, 
and  your  marrying  an  Eastern  girl  may  not  be  one  of 
them.  You  have  often  told  me  how  prejudiced  he  is 
against  the  East  and  Eastern  people.  He  may  disap 
prove  strongly." 

Crawford  squared  his  shoulders.  There  was  no  hes 
itation  or  doubt  in  his  next  speech. 

"If  he  does  it  will  make  no  difference,"  he  declared. 
"I  care  a  whole  lot  for  Dad  and  I'd  do  anything  on 
earth  for  him — anything  but  the  one  thing,  that  is:  I 
won't  give  you  up — provided  you  care  for  me — for 
him  or  for  anyone  else.  That's  final." 

He  certainly  looked  as  if  it  were.  But  Mary  only 
shook  her  head.  In  the  new  thoughts  and  new  imagin 
ings  which  had  come  to  her  during  the  past  winter 
there  had  been  a  vague  foreshadowing  of  a  possible 
situation  somewhat  like  this.  She  had  her  answer 
ready. 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't,"  she  said.  "You  are  his  son,  his 
only  child,  Crawford.  He  cares  so  much  for  you. 
You  have  often  told  me  that,  and — and  I  know  he  must. 
And  you  and  he  have  been  so  happy  together.  Do 
you  think  I  would  be  the  cause  of  breaking  that  rela 
tionship?" 

He  waved  the  question  aside  and  asked  one  of  his 
own. 

"Do  you  love  me,  Mary?"  he  asked. 
243 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"You  mustn't  ask  me,  Crawford.  Write  your  father. 
Tell  him  everything.  Will  you?" 

"Yes,  I  will.  I  should  have  done  it,  anyway.  If  I 
go  home,  and  I  suppose  I  must,  I  shall  tell  him;  it  will 
be  better  than  writing.  But  I  want  your  answer  before 
I  go.  Won't  you  give  it  to  me?" 

He  looked  very  handsome  and  very  manly,  as  he  stood 
there  pleading.  But  Mary  had  made  up  her  mind. 

"I  can't,  Crawford,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  I  don't  know. 
I  do  know  that  it  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  say  what 
you  want  me  to  say — now.  Go  home  to  your  father; 
he  needs  you.  Tell  him  everything  and  then — write 
me." 

He  looked  at  her,  a  long,  long  look.  Then  he  nodded 
slowly. 

"All  right,"  he  said;  "I  will.  I  will  tell  him  that  I 
mean  to  marry  you.  If  he  says  yes — as  he  will,  I'm 
sure — then  I'll  write  you  that.  If  he  says  no,  I'll  write 
you  that.  But  in  either  case,  Mary  Lathrop,  I  shall 
marry  you  just  the  same.  Your  own  no  will  be  the  only 
thing  that  can  prevent  it.  And  now  may  I  come  and  see 
you  tomorrow  evening?" 

"Not  tomorrow,  Crawford.  When  will  you  start  for 
home?" 

"Saturday,  I  think.  May  I  come  the  day  after  tomor 
row?  Just  to  say  good-by,  you  know." 

Mary  was  troubled.  She  could  not  deny  him  and  yet 
she  was  certain  it  would  be  better  for  them  both  if  he 
did  not  come. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "But  only  to  say 
good-by.  You  must  promise  that." 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  bell.  Then  Maggie,  the  maid, 
appeared  to  announce  that  the  Howe  motor  car  was 
waiting  at  the  curb.  A  few  moments  later  Mary  was  in 

244 


MARY-'GUSTA 

her  room  adjusting  her  new  hat  before  the  mirror.  Or 
dinarily,  adjusting  that  hat  would  have  been  an  absorb 
ing  and  painstaking  performance;  just  now  it  was  done 
with  scarcely  a  thought.  How  devoutly  she  wished  that 
the  Howe  car  and  the  Howe  dinner  were  waiting  for 
anyone  in  the  wide  world  but  her !  She  did  not  wish  to 
meet  strangers ;  she  did  not  wish  to  go  anywhere,  above 
all  she  did  not  wish  to  eat.  That  evening,  of  all  evenings 
in  her  life,  she  wished  to  be  alone.  However,  accepted 
invitations  are  implied  obligations  and  Mary,  having  ad 
justed  the  hat,  gave  her  eyes  a  final  dab  with  a  handker 
chief  and  cold  water  and  hastened  down  to  answer  the 
call  to  social  martyrdom. 

It  was  not  excruciating  torture,  that  dinner  in  the 
Howe  dining-room,  even  to  a  young  lady  who  had  just 
listened  to  a  proposal  of  marriage  and  desired  to  think 
of  nothing  less  important.  Mr.  Howe  was  big  and  jolly. 
Mrs.  Howe  was  gray-haired  and  gracious  and  Barbara 
was — Barbara.  Also,  there  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Howe's, 
an  elderly  gentleman  named  Green,  who  it  seemed  was 
one  of  a  firm  of  wholesale  grocers  downtown,  and  who 
told  funny  stories  and,  by  way  of  proving  that  they  were 
funny,  laughed  heartiest  of  all  at  the  ending  of  each. 
He  sat  next  Mrs.  Howe  during  dinner,  but  later,  when 
they  were  all  in  the  handsome  drawing-room,  he  came 
over  and  seated  himself  upon  the  sofa  next  Mary  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  her. 

"You  are  not  a  born  Bostonian,  I  understand,  Miss 
Lathrop,"  he  observed.  "An  importation,  eh?  Ho,  ho! 
Yes.  Well,  how  do  you  like  us?" 

Mary  smiled.  "Oh,  I  like  Boston  very  much,  Mr. 
Green,"  she  answered.  "I  know  it  better  than  any  other 
American  city,  perhaps  that  is  why.  It  was  the  only 
city  I  had  ever  seen  until  quite  recently.  I  am  imported 

245 


MARY-'GUSTA 

— as  you  call  it — from  not  so  far  away.  My  home  is 
on  Cape  Cod." 

Mr.  Green  regarded  her  with  interest. 

"So?"  he  said.  "From  Cape  Cod,  eh?  That's  rather 
peculiar.  I  have  been  very  much  interested  in  the  Cape 
for  the  past  day  or  so.  Something  has  occurred  in  con 
nection  with  my  business  which  brought  the  Cape  to 
mind.  My  attention  has  been — er — as  you  may  say, 
gripped  by  the  strong  right  arm  of  Massachusetts.  Eh  ? 
Ho,  ho!" 

He  chuckled  at  his  own  joke.  Mary  was  rather  bored, 
but  she  tried  not  to  show  it. 

"What  part  of  the  Cape  has  interested  you,  Mr. 
Green?"  she  inquired  for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"Eh?  Oh — er — South  Harniss.  Little  town  down 
near  the  elbow.  Do  you  know  it?" 

Mary  was  surprised,  of  course.  The  answer  which 
was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  was  naturally,  "Why,  yes, 
I  live  there."  But  she  did  not  make  that  answer,  al 
though  she  has  often  wondered,  since,  why.  What  she 
said  was:  "Yes,  I  know  South  Harniss." 

"Do  you,  indeed?"  went  on  Green.  "Well,  I  don't, 
but  I  have  known  some  people  who  live  there  for  ever  so 
long.  My  father  knew  them  before  me.  They  were 
customers  of  his  and  they  have  been  buying  of  our  firm 
for  years.  Two  old  chaps  who  keep  what  I  believe  they 
would  call  a  'general  store.'  Fine  old  fellows,  both  of 
them !  Different  as  can  be,  and  characters,  but  pure  gold 
inside.  I  have  had  some  bad  news  concerning  them. 
They're  in  trouble  and  I'm  mighty  sorry." 

Mary  was  bored  no  longer.  She  leaned  forward  and 
asked  breathlessly: 

"What  are  their  names,  Mr.  Green?" 

"Eh?  Oh,  the  firm  name  is  Hamilton  and  Company. 
246 


MARY-'GUSTA 

That  is  simple  and  sane  enough,  but  the  names  of  the 
partners  were  cribbed  from  the  book  of  Leviticus,  I 
should  imagine — Zoeth  and  Shadrach!  Ho,  ho!  Think 
of  it!  Think  of  wishing  a  name  like  Shadrach  upon  a 
helpless  infant.  The  S.  P.  C.  A.  or  C.  C.  or  something 
ought  to  be  told  of  it.  Ho,  ho !" 

He  laughed  aloud.     Mary  did  not  laugh. 

"They — you  said  they  were  in  trouble,"  she  said 
slowly.  "What  sort  of  trouble?" 

"Eh?  Oh,  the  usual  kind.  The  kind  of  goblin,  young 
lady,  which  is  likely  to  get  us  business  men  if  we  don't 
watch  out — financial  trouble.  The  firm  of  Hamilton  and 
Company  has  not  kept  abreast  of  the  times,  that's  all. 
For  years  they  did  a  good  business  and  then  some  new 
competitors  with  up-to-date  ideas  came  to  town  and — 
puff ! — good-by  to  the  old  fogies.  They  are  in  a  bad  way, 
I'm  afraid,  and  will  have  to  go  under,  unless — eh?  But 
there!  you  aren't  particularly  interested,  I  dare  say.  It 
was  your  mention  of  Cape  Cod  which  set  me  going." 

"Oh,  but  I  am  interested ;  I  am,  really.  They  must  go 
under,  you  say?  Fail,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean.  I  am  very  sorry.  Our 
firm  would  go  on  selling  them  goods  almost  indefinitely 
for,  as  I  have  said,  they  are  old  customers  and  in  a  way 
old  friends.  But  they  are  absolutely  honest  and  they 
will  not  buy  what  they  cannot  pay  for.  We  have  some 
pitiful  letters  from  them — not  whining,  you  know,  but 
straightforward  and  frank.  They  don't  ask  favors,  but 
tell  us  just  where  they  stand  and  leave  it  to  us  to  refuse 
credit  if  we  see  fit.  It  is  just  one  of  the  little  tragedies 
of  life,  Miss  Lathrop,  but  I'm  mighty  sorry  for  those 
two  old  friends  of  my  father's  and  mine.  And  the  worst 
of  it  is  that,  from  inquiries  I  have  made,  it  would  seem 
that  they  have  been  sacrificing  themselves  by  spending 

247 


MARY-'GUSTA 

their  money  lavishly  and  uselessly  on  someone  else.  They 
have  a  girl  in  the  family,  a  sort  of  adopted  niece,  what 
ever  that  is,  and,  not  content  with  bringing  her  up  like 
a  sensible,  respectable  country  girl,  they  must  dress  her 
like  a  millionaire's  daughter  and  send  her  off  to  some 

extravagantly  expensive  seminary  where Why, 

what  is  the  matter  ?  Eh  ?  Good  heavens !  What  have  I 
been  saying?  You  don't  know  these  people,  do  you?" 

Mary  turned  a  very  white  face  toward  his. 

"They  are  my  uncles,"  she  said.  "My  home  is  at 
South  Harniss.  Please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Green." 

She  rose  and  walked  away.  A  few  minutes  later, 
when  Mr.  Howe  approached  the  sofa,  he  found  his 
friend  sitting  thereon,  staring  at  nothing  in  particular 
and  fervently  repeating  under  his  breath,  "The  devil! 
The  devil!  The  devil!" 

Mary  got  away  as  soon  as  she  could.  Her  looks  at 
tracted  Barbara's  attention  and  the  young  lady  asked  if 
she  were  not  feeling  well.  Mary  replied  that  she  was 
not,  and  although  it  was  not  serious  please  might  she  be 
permitted  to  go  home  at  once?  She  was  sent  home  in 
the  automobile  and  when  she  reached  her  own  room  her 
first  act  was  to  find  and  open  Isaiah's  letter  which  had 
arrived  that  afternoon.  With  trembling  fingers  she  held 
it  beneath  the  gas  jet  and  this  is  what  she  read : 

DEAR  MARY  AUGUSTA: 

I  had  not  ought  to  write  you  this  and  your  Uncles  would 
pretty  nigh  kill  me  if  they  knew  I  done  so  but  I  am  going 
to  just  the  same.  Busines  has  gone  to  rack  and  ruin. 
Hamilton  &  Co.  thanks  to  those  and  other  darned  stores,  ain't 
making  enough  to  keep  boddy  and  soul  together  and  they  are 
making  themselves  sick  over  it.  I  don't  know  what  will  be 
come  of  them  to  if  something  or  someboddy  does  not  think 
up  some  way  to  help  them  over  the  shoals.  They  do  not  tell 

248 


MARY-'GUSTA 

anyone  and  least  of  all  they  wouldent  want  you  to  be  told, 
but  I  think  you  ought  to  be.  They  have  done  a  whole  lot 
for  you.  Can't  you  think  up  some  way  to  do  something  for 
them.  For  god  Sakes  write  right  off. 

Yours  truly, 

ISAIAH  CHASE. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PEOPLE  grow  older,  even  on  the  Cape,  where  hurry 
— except  by  the  automobiles  of  summer  resi 
dents — is  not  considered  good  form  and  where 
Father  Time  is  supposed  to  sit  down  to  rest.  Judge 
Baxter,  Ostable's  leading  attorney-at-law,  had  lived 
quietly  and  comfortably  during  the  years  which  had 
passed  since,  as  Marcellus  Hall's  lawyer,  he  read  the 
astonishing  letter  to  the  partners  of  Hamilton  and  Com 
pany.  He  was  over  seventy  now,  and  behind  his  back 
Ostable  folks  referred  to  him  as  "old  Judge  Baxter"; 
but  although  his  spectacles  were  stronger  than  at  that 
time,  his  mental  faculties  were  not  perceptibly  weaker, 
and  he  walked  with  as  firm,  if  not  so  rapid,  a  stride. 
So  when,  at  eleven  in  the  forenoon  of  the  day  follow 
ing  Mary's  dinner  at  the  Howes'  home,  the  Judge  heard 
someone  enter  the  outer  room  of  his  offices  near  the 
Ostable  courthouse,  he  rose  from  his  chair  in  the  inner 
room  and,  without  waiting  for  his  clerk  to  announce  the 
visitor,  opened  the  door  himself. 

The  caller  whose  question  the  clerk  was  about  to  an 
swer,  or  would  probably  have  answered  as  soon  as  he 
finished  staring  in  awestruck  admiration,  was  a  young 
lady.  The  Judge  looked  at  her  over  his  spectacles  and 
then  through  them  and  decided  that  she  was  a  stranger. 
He  stepped  forward. 

"I  am  Judge  Baxter,"  he  said.  "Did  you  wish  to  see 
me?" 

She  turned  toward  him.  "Yes,"  she  said  simply.  "I 
250 


MARY-'GUSTA 

should  like  to  talk  with  you  for  a  few  moments,  if  you 
are  not  too  busy." 

The  Judge  hesitated  momentarily.  Only  the  week  be 
fore  a  persistent  and  fluent  young  female  had  talked  him 
into  the  purchase  of  a  set  of  "Lives  of  the  Great  Jurists," 
the  same  to  be  paid  for  in  thirty-five  installments  of  two 
dollars  each.  Mrs.  Baxter  had  pronounced  the  "Great 
Jurists"  great  humbugs,  and  her  husband,  although  he 
pretended  to  find  the  "Lives"  very  interesting,  was  se 
cretly  inclined  to  agree  with  her.  So  he  hesitated.  The 
young  woman,  evidently  noticing  his  hesitation,  added : 

"If  you  are  engaged  just  now  I  shall  wait.  I  came  to 
see  you  on  a  matter  of  business,  legal  business." 

Judge  Baxter  tried  to  look  as  if  no  thought  of  his 
visitor's  having  another  purpose  had  entered  his  mind. 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly !  Of  course !"  he  said  hastily,  and 
added:  "Will  you  walk  in?" 

She  walked  in — to  the  private  office,  that  is — and  the 
Judge,  following  her,  closed  the  door.  His  clerk  stared 
wistfully  at  his  own  side  of  that  door  for  a  full  minute, 
then  sighed  heavily  and  resumed  his  work,  which  was 
copying  a  list  of  household  effects  belonging  to  a  late 
lamented  who  had  willed  them,  separately  and  individ 
ually,  to  goodness  knew  how  many  cousins,  first,  second, 
and  third. 

In  the  private  office  the  Judge  asked  his  visitor  to  be 
seated.  She  took  the  chair  he  brought  forward.  Then 
she  said : 

"You  don't  remember  me,  I  think,  Judge  Baxter.  I 
am  Mary  Lathrop." 

The  Judge  looked  puzzled.  The  name  sounded  famil 
iar,  but  he  could  not  seem  to  identify  its  owner. 

"Perhaps  you  would  remember  me  if  I  told  you  my 
whole  name,"  suggested  the  latter.  "I  am  Mary  Augusta 

251 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Lathrop.  I  think  perhaps  you  used  to  call  me  Mary- 
'Gusta;  most  people  did." 

Then  the  Judge  remembered.  His  astonishment  was 
great. 

"Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop!"  he  repeated.  "Mary-'Gusta! 

Are  you ?  Why,  it  scarcely  seems  possible!  And 

yet,  now  that  I  look,  I  can  see  that  it  is.  Bless  my  soul 
and  body!  How  do  you  do?  It  must  be  almost — er — 
seven  or  eight  years  since  I  have  seen  you.  South  Har- 
niss  is  only  a  few  miles  off,  but  I  am  getting — er — older 
and  I  don't  drive  as  much  as  I  used  to.  But  there!  I 
am  very  glad  to  see  you  now.  And  how  are  Captain 
Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton  ?  There  is  no  need  to  ask  how 
you  are.  Your  looks  are  the  best  answer  to  that." 

Mary  thanked  him  and  said  she  was  very  well.  Her 
uncles,  too,  were  well,  she  added,  or  they  were  when  she 
last  heard. 

"I  am  on  my  way  home  to  them  now,"  she  added. 
"For  the  past  two  years  I  have  been  at  school  in  Boston. 
I  left  there  this  morning  and  got  off  the  train  here  be 
cause  I  wished  very  much  to  see  you,  Judge  Baxter. 
Yesterday — last  evening — I  heard  something — I  was  told 
something  which,  if  it  is  true,  is — is " 

She  bit  her  lip.  She  was  evidently  fighting  desperately 
not  to  lose  self-control.  The  Judge  was  surprised  and 
disturbed. 

"Why,  Mary!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  suppose  I  may  call 
you  Mary  still ;  as  an  old  friend  I  hope  I  may.  What  is 
the  matter?  What  did  you  hear?  What  do  you  wish 
to  see  me  about?" 

She  was  calm  enough  now,  but  her  earnestness  was 
unmistakable. 

"I  heard  something  concerning  myself  and  my  uncles 
which  surprised  and  shocked  me  dreadfully,"  she  said. 

252 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it,  but  I  must  know  whether  it  is 
true  or  not.  I  must  know  at  once !  You  can  tell  me  the 
truth,  Judge  Baxter,  if  you  only  will.  That  is  why  I 
came  here  this  morning.  Will  you  tell  it  to  me?  Will 
you  promise  that  you  will  answer  my  questions,  every 
one,  with  the  exact  truth  and  nothing  else  ?  And  answer 
them  all?  Will  you  promise  that?" 

The  Judge  looked  even  more  surprised  and  puzzled. 
He  rubbed  his  chin  and  smiled  doubtfully. 

"Well,  Mary,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  can  promise  that  if 
I  answer  your  questions  at  all  I  shall  answer  them  truth 
fully.  But  I  scarcely  like  to  promise  to  answer  them 
without  knowing  what  they  are.  A  lawyer  has  a  good 
many  secrets  intrusted  to  him  and  he  is  obliged  to  be 
careful." 

"I  know.  But  this  is  a  secret  in  which  I  am  inter 
ested.  I  am  interested  in  it  more  than  anyone  else.  I 
must  know  the  truth  about  it!  I  must!  If  you  won't 
tell  me  I  shall  find  out  somehow.  Will  you  tell?" 

Judge  Baxter  rubbed  his  chin  again. 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  ask  your  questions?" 
he  suggested. 

"Yes;  yes,  I  do.  I  will.  How  much  money  did  my 
stepfather,  Captain  Marcellus  Hall,  have  when  he  died  ?" 

The  Judge's  chin-rubbing  ceased.  His  eyebrows  drew 
together. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?"  he  asked,  after  a  mo 
ment. 

"Because  I  do.  Because  it  is  very  important  that  I 
should.  It  is  my  right  to  know.  Was  he  a  rich  man?" 

"Um — er — no.  I  should  not  call  him  that.  Hardly 
a  rich  man." 

"Was  he  very  poor?" 

"Mary,  I  don't  exactly  see  why " 

253 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"I  do.  Oh,  Judge  Baxter,  please  don't  think  I  am 
asking  this  for  any  selfish  reasons.  I  am  not,  indeed 
I'm  not!  All  my  life,  ever  since  I  was  old  enough  to 
think  of  such  things  at  all,  I  have  supposed — I  have 
been  led  to  believe  that  my  stepfather  left  me  plenty  of 
money — money  enough  to  pay  my  uncles  for  taking  care 
of  me,  for  my  clothes  and  board,  and  now,  during  these 
last  two  years,  for  my  studies  in  Boston.  I  never,  never 
should  have  consented  to  go  to  that  school  if  I  hadn't 
supposed  I  was  paying  the  expenses  myself.  I  knew  my 
uncles  were  not  well-to-do;  I  knew  they  could  not  af 
ford  to — to  do  what  they  had  already  done  for  me,  even 
before  that.  And  now — last  night — I  was  told  that — 
that  they  were  in  great  financial  trouble,  that  they  would 
probably  be  obliged  to  fail  in  business,  and  all  because 
they  had  been  spending  their  money  on  me,  sacrificing 
themselves  and  their  comfort  and  happiness  in  order  that 
'an  adopted  niece  with  extravagant  ideas'  might  be  edu 
cated  above  her  station;  that  is  the  way  the  gentleman 
who  told  me  the  story  put  it.  Of  course  he  didn't  know 
he  was  talking  to  the  niece,"  she  added,  with  a  pathetic 
little  smile;  "but,  Oh,  Judge,  can't  you  see  now  why  I 
must  know  the  truth — all  of  the  truth?" 

Her  fingers  clasped  and  unclasped  in  her  lap.  The 
Judge  laid  his  own  hand  upon  them. 

"There,  there,  my  dear,"  he  said  soothingly.  "Tut, 
tut,  tut!  What's  all  this  about  your  uncles  failing  in 
business?  That  isn't  possible,  is  it?  Tell  me  the  whole 
thing,  just  as  it  was  told  to  you." 

So  Mary  told  it,  concluding  by  exhibiting  Isaiah 
Chase's  letter. 

"It  must  be  very  bad,  you  see,"  she  said.  "Isaiah 
never  would  have  written  if  it  had  not  been.  It  is  hard 
enough  to  think  that  while  I  was  enjoying  myself  in 

254 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Europe  and  at  school  they  were  in  such  trouble  and 
keeping  it  all  to  themselves.  That  is  hard  enough,  when 
I  know  how  they  must  have  needed  me.  But  if  it  should 
be  true  that  it  is  their  money — money  they  could  not 
possibly  spare — that  I  have  been  spending — wasting  there 

in  Boston,  I — I Please  tell  me,  Judge  Baxter !  Have 

I  any  money  of  my  own?  Please  tell  me." 

The  Judge  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  floor, 
his  brows  drawn  together  and  his  right  hand  slapping 
his  leg  at  each  turn.  After  seven  or  eight  of  these 
turns  he  sat  down  again  and  faced  his  caller. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "suppose  this  story  about  your  uncles' 
financial  and  business  troubles  should  be  true,  what  will 
you  do?" 

Mary  met  his  look  bravely.  Her  eyes  were  moist,  but 
there  was  no  hesitation  in  her  reply. 

"I  shall  stay  at  home  and  help  them  in  any  way  I 
can,"  she  said.  "There  will  be  no  more  Boston  and  no 
more  school  for  me.  They  need  me  there  at  home  and 
I  am  going  home — to  stay." 

"Whether  it  is  your  money  or  theirs  which  has  paid 
for  your  education?" 

"Certainly.  Of  course  I  never  should  have  gone  away 
at  all  if  I  had  not  supposed  my  own  money  were  paying 
the  expenses.  Judge,  you  haven't  answered  my  ques 
tion — and  yet  I  think — I  am  afraid  that  you  have  an 
swered  it.  It  was  their  money  that  paid,  wasn't  it?" 

Judge  Baxter  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  in  final 
deliberation.  Then  he  nodded,  solemnly. 

"Yes,  Mary,"  he  said,  "it  was  their  money.  In  fact, 
it  has  been  their  money  which  has  paid  for  most  things 
in  your  life.  Shadrach  Gould  and  Zoeth  Hamilton  aren't, 
maybe,  the  best  business  men  in  the  world,  but  they  come 
pretty  near  to  being  the  best  men,  in  business  or  out  of 

255 


MARY-'GUSTA 

it,  that  I  have  met  during  seventy  odd  years  on  this 
planet.  I  think,  perhaps,  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  know 
just  how  good  they  have  been  to  you.  Now,  listen!" 

He  began  at  the  beginning,  at  the  day  of  Marcellus 
Hall's  funeral,  when  he  read  the  letter  to  Shadrach  and 
Zoeth,  the  letter  intrusting  Mary-'Gusta  to  their  care. 
He  told  of  Marcellus's  unfortunate  investments,  of  the 
loss  of  the  latter's  fortune,  and  how,  when  the  estate 
was  settled,  there  were  but  a  few  hundreds  where  it 
was  expected  there  might  be  a  good  many  thousands. 

"Don't  make  any  mistake,  Mary,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"Your  uncles  knew  there  was  little  or  no  money  when 
they  decided  to  take  you.  They  took  you  simply  for 
yourself,  because  they  cared  so  much  for  you,  not  be 
cause  they  were  to  make  a  cent  from  the  guardianship. 
Everything  you  have  had  for  the  past  two  years  their 
money  has  paid  for  and  you  may  be  absolutely  certain 
they  never  have  grudged  a  penny  of  it.  The  last  time 
I  saw  Captain  Gould  he  was  glorying  in  having  the 
smartest  and  best  girl  in  Ostable  County.  And  Mr. 
Hamilton " 

She  interrupted  him.  "Don't,  please!"  she  said  chok 
ingly.  "Please  don't  tell  me  any  more  just  now.  I — I 
want  to  think." 

"There  isn't  any  more  to  tell,"  he  said  gently.  "I 
am  going  into  the  next  room.  I  shall  be  back  in  a  few 
minutes.  Then,  if  you  care  to,  we  can  talk  a  little  more." 

When  he  returned  she  had  risen  and  was  standing 
by  the  window  looking  out  into  the  back  yard.  She 
was  calm  and  even  smiled  a  little  as  he  entered,  although 
the  smile  was  a  rather  pitiful  one.  Of  the  two  the  Judge 
looked  the  more  perturbed. 

"Whew!"  he  exclaimed,  after  carefully  closing  the 
door  behind  him.  "I've  been  doing  a  little  thinking  my- 

256 


MARY-'GUSTA 

self,  young  lady,  since  I  left  you  here.  I've  been  think 
ing  that  I  had  better  take  a  trip  to  Canada  or  China  or 
somewhere  and  start  in  a  hurry,  too.  When  your  uncles 
find  out  that  I  told  you  this  thing  they  have  succeeded 
in  keeping  from  you  all  this  time — well,  it  will  be  high 
time  for  me  to  be  somewhere  else."  He  laughed  and 
then  added  gravely:  "But  I  still  think  I  was  right  in 
telling  you.  Under  the  circumstances  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  should  know." 

"Of  course  I  should.  If  you  had  not  told  me  I  should 
have  found  it  out,  now  that  my  suspicions  were  aroused. 
Thank  you,  Judge  Baxter.  Now  I  must  go." 

"Go?    Go  where?" 

"Home — to  South  Harniss." 

"Nonsense!  You're  not  going  to  South  Harniss  yet 
awhile.  You're  going  to  have  dinner  with  my  wife 
and  me." 

"Thank  you.  I  can't.  I  must  go  at  once.  By  the 
next  train." 

"There  isn't  any  train  until  nearly  four  o'clock."  Then, 
noticing  her  look  of  disappointment,  he  went  on  to  say: 
"But  that  shan't  make  any  difference.  I'll  send  you 
over  in  my  nephew's  automobile.  I'm  not  sufficiently 
up-to-date  to  own  one  of  the  cussed — excuse  me! — 
things,  but  he  does  and  I  borrow  it  occasionally.  I 
don't  drive  it;  good  heavens,  no!  But  his  man  shall 
drive  you  over  and  I'll  guarantee  you  beat  the  train.  If 
you  don't,  it  won't  be  because  you  go  too  slow.  Now, 
of  course,  you'll  stay  to  dinner." 

But  Mary  shook  her  head.  "You're  very  kind,  Judge," 
she  said,  "and  I  thank  you  very  much,  but " 

"Well,  but  what?" 

"But  I— I  can't.  I— I— Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  I  couldn't 
eat,  or  even  try  to — now.  I  want  to  get  home — to  them." 

257 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"And  so  you  shall,  my  dear.  And  in  double-quick 
time,  too.  Here,  Jesse,"  opening  the  door  to  the  outer 
office  and  addressing  the  clerk,  "you  step  over  and  tell 
Samuel  that  I  want  to  borrow  his  car  and  Jim  for  two 
hours.  Tell  him  I  want  them  now.  And  if  his  car  is 
busy  go  to  Cahoon's  garage  and  hire  one  with  a  driver. 
Hurry ! 

"And  now,  Mary,"  turning  to  her,  "can  you  tell  me 
any  more  about  your  plans,  provided  you  have  had  time 
to  make  any?  If  this  story  about  your  uncles'  business 
troubles  is  true,  what  do  you  intend  doing?  Or  don't 
you  know?" 

Mary  replied  that  her  plans  were  very  indefinite,  as 
yet. 

"I  have  some  ideas,"  she  said;  "some  that  I  had 
thought  I  might  use  after  I  had  finished  school  and  come 
back  to  the  store.  They  may  not  be  worth  much;  they 
were  schemes  for  building  up  the  business  there  and 
adding  some  other  sorts  of  business  to  it.  The  first 
thing  I  shall  do  is  to  see  how  bad  the  situation  really  is." 

"I  hope  it  isn't  bad.  Poor  Zoeth  certainly  has  had 
trouble  enough  in  his  life." 

There  was  a  significance  in  his  tone  which  Mary 
plainly  did  not  understand. 

"What  trouble  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

The  Judge  looked  at  her,  coughed,  and  then  said 
hastily :  "Oh,  nothing  in  particular ;  every  one  of  us  has 
troubles,  I  suppose.  But,  Mary,  if — if  you  find  that  the 
story  is  true  and — ahem — a  little  money  might  help  to 
— er — tide  the  firm  over — why,  I — I  think  perhaps  that 
it  might  be — ahem — arranged  so  that " 

He  seemed  to  be  having  difficulty  in  finishing  the  sen 
tence.  Mary  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  end. 

"Thank  you,  Judge,"  she  said  quickly.  "Thank  you, 
258 


MARY-'GUSTA 

but  I  am  hoping  it  may  not  be  so  bad  as  that.  I  am 
going  back  there,  you  know,  and — well,  as  Uncle  Shad- 
rach  would  say,  we  may  save  the  ship  yet.  At  any  rate, 
we  won't  call  for  help  until  the  last  minute." 

Judge  Baxter  regarded  her  with  admiration. 

"Shadrach  and  Zoeth  are  rich  in  one  respect,"  he  de 
clared  ;  "they've  got  you.  But  it  is  a  wicked  shame 
that  you  must  give  up  your  school  and  your  opportunities 

She  held  up  her  hand. 

"Please  don't!"  she  begged.  "If  you  knew  how  glad 
I  am  to  be  able  to  do  something,  if  it  is  only  to  give  up !" 

The  car  and  Jim  were  at  the  door  a  few  minutes  later 
and  Mary,  having  said  good-by  to  the  Judge  and  prom 
ised  faithfully  to  keep  him  posted  as  to  events  at  home, 
climbed  into  the  tonneau  and  was  whizzed  away.  Jim, 
the  driver,  after  a  few  attempts  at  conversation,  mainly 
concerning  the  "unseasonableness"  of  the  weather,  find 
ing  responses  few  and  absently  given,  relapsed  into 
silence.  Silence  was  what  Mary  desired,  silence  and 
speed,  and  Jim  obliged  with  the  latter. 

Over  the  road  by  which,  a  dozen  years  before,  she 
had  driven  in  the  old  buggy  she  now  rode  again.  Then, 
as  now,  she  wondered  what  she  should  find  at  her  jour 
ney's  end.  Here,  however,  the  resemblance  ceased,  for 
whereas  then  she  looked  forward,  with  a  child's  an 
ticipations,  to  nothing  more  definite  than  new  sights  and 
new  and  excitingly  delightful  adventures,  now  she  saw 
ahead — what?  Great  care  and  anxiety  and  trouble  cer 
tainly,  these  at  the  best;  and  at  the  worst,  failure  and 
disappointment  and  heartbreak.  And  behind  her  she  was 
leaving  opportunity  and  the  pleasant  school  life  and 
friends,  leaving  them  forever. 

She  was  leaving  Crawford,  too,  leaving  him  without 
259 


MARY-'GUSTA 

a  word  of  explanation.  She  had  had  no  time  to  write 
even  a  note.  Mrs.  Wyeth,  after  protesting  vainly  against 
her  guest's  decision  to  leave  for  the  Cape  by  the  earliest 
train  in  the  morning,  had  helped  to  pack  a  few  essential 
belongings ;  the  others  she  was  to  pack  and  send  later 
on,  when  she  received  word  to  do  so.  The  three,  Mrs. 
Wyeth,  Miss  Pease,  and  Mary,  had  talked  and  argued 
and  planned  until  almost  daylight.  Then  followed  an 
hour  or  two  of  uneasy  sleep,  a  hurried  breakfast,  and 
the  rush  to  the  train.  Mary  had  not  written  Crawford ; 
the  shock  of  what  she  had  been  told  at  the  Howes'  and 
her  great  anxiety  to  see  Judge  Baxter  and  learn  if  what 
she  had  heard  was  true  had  driven  even  her  own  love 
story  from  her  mind.  Now  she  remembered  that  she 
had  given  him  permission  to  call,  not  this  evening  but 
the  next,  to  say  good-by  before  leaving  for  the  West. 
He  would  be  disappointed,  poor  fellow.  Well,  she  must 
not  think  of  that.  She  must  not  permit  herself  to 
think  of  anyone  but  her  uncles  or  of  anything  except 
the  great  debt  of  love  and  gratitude  she  owed  them 
and  of  the  sacrifice  they  had  made  for  her.  She  could 
repay  a  little  of  that  sacrifice  now;  at  least  she  could 
try.  She  would  think  of  that  and  of  nothing  else. 

And  then  she  wondered  what  Crawford  would  think 
or  say  when  he  found  she  had  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  main  street  of  South  Harniss  looked  natural 
enough  as  the  motor  car  buzzed  along  it.  It  was 
but  a  few  months  since  Mary  had  been  there,  yet 
it  seemed  ever  so  much  more.  She  felt  so  much  older  than 
on  those  Christmas  holidays.  When  the  store  of  Hamilton 
and  Company  came  in  sight  she  sank  down  on  the  back 
seat  in  order  not  to  be  seen.  She  knew  her  uncles  were, 
in  all  probability,  there  at  the  store,  and  she  wished  to 
see  Isaiah  and  talk  with  him  before  meeting  them. 

Isaiah  was  in  the  kitchen  by  the  cookstove  when  she 
opened  the  door.  He  turned,  saw  her,  and  stood  petri 
fied.  Mary  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 
By  that  time  Mr.  Chase  had  recovered  sufficiently  from 
his  ossification  to  speak. 

"Eh — eh — by  time!"  he  gasped.  "I  snum  if  it  ain't 
you!" 

Mary  nodded.  "Isaiah,"  she  asked  quickly,  "are  you 
alone?  Are  my  uncles,  both  of  them,  at  the  store?" 

But  the  cook  and  steward  had  not  yet  completely 
got  over  the  effect  of  the  surprise.  He  still  stared  at  her. 

"It  is  you,  ain't  it!"  he  stammered.  "I — I — by  time, 
I  do  believe  you've  come  home,  same  as  I  asked  you  to." 

"Of  course  I've  come  home.  How  in  the  world  could 
I  be  here  if  I  hadn't?  Don't  stare  at  me  like  that,  with 
your  mouth  open  like  a — like  a  codfish.  Tell  me,  are 
Uncle  Shad  and  Uncle  Zoeth  at  the  store?" 

"Eh Yes,  I  cal'late  they  be.  Ain't  neither  of  'em 

come  home  to  dinner  yet.  I'm  expectin'  one  of  'em  'most 

261 


MARY-'GUSTA 

any  minute.  I'll  run  up  and  fetch  'em.  Say!  How  in 
the  nation  did  you  get  here  this  time  of  day?" 

"I  shall  tell  you  by  and  by.  No,  I  don't  want  you  to 
get  my  uncles.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  alone  first.  Now, 
Isaiah,  sit  down !  Sit  down  in  that  chair.  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  just  how  bad  things  are.  Tell  me  everything, 
all  you  know  about  it,  and  don't  try  to  make  the  situa 
tion  better  than  it  is.  And  please  hurry!" 

Isaiah,  bewildered  but  obedient,  sat  down.  The  com 
mand  to  hurry  had  the  effect  of  making  him  so  nervous 
that,  although  he  talked  enough  to  have  described  the 
most  complicated  situation,  his  ideas  were  badly  snarled 
and  Mary  had  to  keep  interrupting  in  order  to  untangle 
them.  And,  after  all,  what  he  had  to  tell  was  not  very 
definite.  Business  was  bad  at  the  store;  that  was  plain 
to  everyone  in  town.  "All  hands"  were  trading  at  the 
new  stores  where  prices  were  lower,  stocks  bigger  and 
more  up-to-date,  and  selling  methods  far,  far  in  advance 
of  those  of  Hamilton  and  Company. 

"About  the  only  customers  that  stick  by  us,"  declared 
Isaiah,  "are  folks  like  'Rastus  Young  and  the  rest  of 
the  deadbeats.  They  wouldn't  leave  us  for  nothin' — and 
nothin's  what  they  pay,  too,  drat  'em!" 

The  partners  had  not  told  him  of  their  troubles,  but 
telling  was  not  necessary.  He  had  seen  and  heard 
enough. 

"They  are  right  on  the  ragged  edge  of  goin'  on  the 
rocks,"  vowed  Isaiah.  "Zoeth,  he's  that  thin  and  peaked 
'twould  make  a  sick  pullet  look  fleshy  alongside  of  him. 
And  Cap'n  Shad  goes  around  with  his  hands  rammed 
down  in  his  beckets " 

"In  his  what?" 

"In  his  britches  pockets,  and  he  don't  scurcely  speak 
a  word  for  hours  at  a  stretch.  And  they're  up  all  times 

262 


MARY-'GUSTA 

of  the  night,  fussin'  over  account  books  and  writin'  let 
ters  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  It's  plain  enough  what's 
comin'.  Everybody  in  town  is  on  to  it.  Why,  I  was 
up  to  the  store  t'other  day  settin'  outside  on  the  steps 
and  Ab  Bacheldor  came  along.  He  hates  Cap'n  Shad 
worse'n  pizen,  you  know.  'Hello,  Isaiah !'  he  says  to  me, 
he  says.  Is  that  you  ?'  he  says.  'Course  it's  me,'  says  I. 
'Who'd  you  think  'twas?'  'I  didn't  know  but  it  might 
be  the  sheriff,'  he  says.  'I  understand  he's  settin'  round 
nowadays  just  a-waitin'.'  And  Zoeth  was  right  within 
hearin',  too!" 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mary  indignantly. 

"Yup,  that's  what  he  said,"  went  on  Isaiah.  "But  I 
got  in  one  dig  on  my  own  hook.  'The  sheriff  don't  wait 
much  down  to  your  house,  Abner,  does  he  ?'  says  I.  'You 
bet  he  don't/  says  he;  'he  don't  have  to.'  'Well,  he'd 
starve  to  death  if  he  waited  there  long,'  says  I.  Ho,  ho ! 
His  wife's  the  stingiest  woman  about  her  cookin'  that 
there  is  on  the  Cape.  Why,  one  time  she  took  a  notion 
she'd  keep  boarders  and  Henry  Ryder,  that  drives  the 
fruit  cart,  he  started  to  board  there.  But  he  only  stayed 
two  days.  The  fust  day  they  had  biled  eggs  and  the 
next  day  they  had  soup  made  out  of  the  shells.  Course 
that  probably  ain't  true — Henry's  an  awful  liar — but  all 
the  same " 

"Never  mind  Henry  Ryder,  or  Abner  Bacheldor, 
either,"  interrupted  Mary.  "How  did  you  happen  to 
send  for  me,  Isaiah?" 

"Eh?  Oh,  that  just  came  of  itself,  as  you  might 
say.  I  kept  gettin'  more  and  more  tittered  up  and  wor 
ried  as  I  see  how  things  was  goin'  and  I  kept  wishin' 
you  was  here,  if  'twas  only  to  have  somebody  to  talk 
it  over  with.  But  I  didn't  dast  to  write  and  when  you 
was  home  Christmas  I  never  dast  to  say  nothin'  because 

263 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Cap'n  Shad  had  vowed  he'd  butcher  me  if  I  told  tales  to 
you  about  any  home  troubles.  That's  it,  you  see!  All 
through  this  their  main  idea  has  been  not  to  trouble 
you.  'She  mustn't  know  anything  or  she'll  worry,'  says 
Zoeth,  and  Cap'n  Shad  he  says,  'That's  so.'  They  think 
an  awful  sight  of  you,  Mary-'Gusta." 

Mary  did  not  trust  herself  to  look  up. 

"I  know,"  she  said.    "Go  on,  Isaiah." 

"Well,  I  kept  thinkin'  and  thinkin'  and  one  day  last 
week  Ezra  Hopkins,  that's  the  butcher  cart  feller,  he 
and  me  was  talkin'  and  he  says :  'Trade  ain't  very  brisk 
up  to  the  store,  is  it?'  he  says.  'Everybody  says  'tain't.' 
'Then  if  everybody  knows  so  much  what  d'ye  ask  me 
for?'  says  I.  'Oh,  don't  get  mad,'  says  he.  'But  I  tell 
you  this,  Isaiah/  he  says,  'if  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop  hadn't 
gone  away  to  that  fool  Boston  school  things  would  have 
been  different  with  Hamilton  and  Company.  She's  a 
smart  girl  and  a  smart  business  woman.  I  believe  she'd 
have  saved  the  old  fellers,'  he  says.  'She  was  up-to-date 
and  she  had  the  know-how/  says  he.  Well,  I  kept 
thinkin'  what  he  said  and — and — well,  I  wrote.  For  the 
land  sakes  don't  tell  Shad  nor  Zoeth  that  I  wrote,  but 
I'm  glad  I  done  it.  I  don't  know's  you  can  do  anything, 
I  don't  know's  anybody  can,  but  I'm  mighty  glad  you're 
here,  Mary-'Gusta." 

Mary  sighed.  "I'm  glad  I  am  here,  too,  Isaiah,"  she 
agreed,  "although  I,  too,  don't  know  that  I  can  do  any 
thing.  But,"  she  added  solemnly,  "I  am  going  to  try  very 
hard.  Now  ^e  mustn't  let  Uncle  Shad  or  Uncle  Zoeth 
know  that  I  have  heard  about  their  trouble.  We  must 
let  them  think  I  am  at  home  for  an  extra  holiday.  Then 
I  shall  be  able  to  look  things  over  and  perhaps  plan  a 
little.  When  I  am  ready  to  tell  what  I  mean  to  do  I  can 
tell  the  rest.  .  .  .  Sshh!  Here  comes  one  of  them  now. 

264 


MARY-'GUSTA 

It's  Uncle  Zoeth.  Look  happy,  Isaiah !  Happy — not  as 
if  you  were  choking  to  death !  Well,  Uncle  Zoeth,  aren't 
you  surprised  to  see  me?" 

Surprised  he  certainly  was;  at  first,  like  Isaiah,  he 
could  scarcely  believe  she  was  really  there.  Then,  natu 
rally,  he  wished  to  know  why  she  was  there.  She  dodged 
the  questions  as  best  she  could  and  Zoeth,  innocent  and 
truthful  as  always,  accepted  without  a  suspicion  her 
vague  explanation  concerning  an  opportunity  to  run 
down  and  see  them  for  a  little  while.  Dinner  was  put 
on  the  table  and  then  Isaiah  hastened  up  to  relieve  Shad- 
rach  at  the  store  in  order  that  the  partners  and  Mary 
might  eat  together. 

The  Captain  arrived  a  few  minutes  later,  red-faced, 
vociferous,  and  joyful. 

"Well,"  he  shouted,  throwing  his  arms  about  her  and 
kissing  her  with  a  smack  which  might  have  been  heard 
in  Abner  Bacheldor's  yard,  "if  this  ain't  a  surprise ! 
Zoeth  said  this  mornin'  he  felt  as  if  somethin'  was  goin' 
to  happen,  and  then  Isaiah  upset  the  tea  kittle  all  over 
both  my  feet  and  I  said  I  felt  as  if  it  had  happened.  But 
it  hadn't,  had  it!  Well,  if  it  ain't  good  to  look  at  you, 
Mary-'Gusta!  How'd  you  happen  to  come  this  time  of 
year?  Has  the  schoolhouse  foundered?" 

Mary  repeated  the  excuse  she  had  given  Mr.  Hamil 
ton.  It  was  sufficient.  The  partners  were  too  happy  at 
having  her  with  them  to  be  overcurious  concerning  her 
reasons  for  coming.  Captain  Shad  talked  and  joked 
and  laughed  and  Zoeth  nodded  and  smiled  in  his  quiet 
way.  If  Mary  had  not  known  their  secret  she  would 
not  have  guessed  it  but,  as  it  was,  she  noticed  how  pale 
and  worn  Mr.  Hamilton  looked  and  how  the  Captain 
had  become  prone  to  fits  of  unwonted  silence  from  which 
he  seemed  to  arouse  himself  with  an  effort  and,  after  a 

265 


MARY-'GUSTA 

glance  at  her,  to  talk  and  laugh  louder  than  ever.  Once 
she  ventured  to  ask  how  business  was  and  it  would 
have  been  almost  funny  if  it  had  not  been  so  pathetic, 
the  haste  with  which  they  both  assured  her  that  it  was 
about  the  same. 

After  dinner  she  announced  her  intention  of  going  up 
to  the  store.  Her  uncles  exchanged  looks  and  then  Zoeth 
said: 

"What  makes  you  do  that,  Mary-'Gusta?  Nice  day 
like  this  I'd  be  out  of  door  if  I  was  you.  We  don't 
need  you  at  the  store,  do  we,  Shadrach?" 

"Not  more'n  a  fish  needs  a  bathin'  suit,"  declared  the 
Captain,  with  conviction.  "You  go  see  some  of  the  girls 
and  have  a  good  time,  Mary-'Gusta." 

But  Mary  declined  to  go  and  see  any  of  the  girls. 
She  could  have  a  better  time  at  the  store  than  any 
where  else,  she  said.  She  went  to  the  store  and  spent 
the  afternoon  and  evening  there,  watching  and  listening. 
There  was  not  much  to  watch,  not  more  than  a  dozen 
customers  during  the  entire  time,  and  those  bought  but 
little.  The  hardest  part  of  the  experience  for  her  was 
to  see  hovr  eager  her  uncles  were  to  please  each  caller 
and  how  anxiously  each  watched  the  other's  efforts  and 
the  result.  To  see  Zoeth  at  the  desk  poring  over  the 
ledger,  his  lips  moving  and  the  pencil  trembling  in  his 
fingers,  was  as  bad  as,  but  no  worse  than,  to  see  Cap 
tain  Shadrach,  a  frown  on  his  face  and  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  pace  the  floor  from  the  back  door  to  the 
front  window,  stop,  look  up  the  road,  draw  a  long 
breath  that  was  almost  a  groan,  then  turn  and  stride 
back  again. 

At  six  o'clock  Mary,  who  had  reasons  of  her  own  for 
wishing  to  be  left  alone  in  the  store,  suggested  that  she 
remain  there  while  her  uncles  went  home  for  supper. 

266 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Neither  Mr.  Hamilton  nor  the  Captain  would  consent, 
so  she  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  house  herself  and  send 
Isaiah  up  once  more  to  act  as  shopkeeper.  But  at  eleven 
that  night,  after  unmistakable  sounds  from  their  rooms 
were  furnishing  proofs  that  both  partners  of  Hamilton 
and  Company  were  asleep,  she  tiptoed  downstairs,  put 
on  her  coat  and  hat,  took  the  store  keys  from  the  nail 
where  Zoeth  always  hung  them,  and  went  out.  She  did 
not  return  until  almost  three. 

The  next  day  she  spent,  for  the  most  part,  at  the 
store.  She  wrote  several  letters  and,  in  spite  of  her 
uncles'  protests,  waited  upon  several  customers.  That 
evening,  as  she  sat  behind  the  counter  thinking,  a  boy 
whom  Captain  Shadrach  identified  as  Zenas  Atkins' 
young-one  rushed  breathlessly  into  the  store  to  announce 
between  gasps  that  "Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop's  wanted  on 
the  phone.  It's  long  distance,  too,  and — and — you've  got 
to  scrabble  'cause  they're  holdin'  the  wire."  Mary  hur 
ried  out  and  to  the  telephone  office.  She  had  not  an 
swered  Shadrach's  question  as  to  who  she  thought  was 
calling.  She  did  not  know,  of  course,  but  she  suspected, 
and  for  a  cool-headed  young  business  woman,  a  girl  who 
had  ruthlessly  driven  all  thoughts  except  those  of  busi 
ness  from  her  mind,  her  heart  beat  surprisingly  fast  as 
she  entered  the  closet  which  acted  as  a  substitute  for  a 
telephone  booth,  and  took  down  the  receiver.  Yet  her 
tone  was  calm  enough  as  she  uttered  the  stereotyped 
"Hello." 

The  wire  hummed  and  sang,  fragments  of  distant  con 
versation  became  audible  and  were  lost,  and  then  a  voice, 
the  voice  which  she  was  expecting  but,  in  a  way,  dread 
ing  to  hear,  asked :  "Hello !  Is  this  Miss  Lathrop  ?" 

"Yes,  Crawford." 

"Mary,  is  that  you?" 

267 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Yes." 

"I  have  just  called  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's  and  learned  that 
you  had  gone.  I  am  awfully  disappointed.  I  leave  for 
home  tomorrow  and  I  had  counted  on  seeing  you  before 
I  went.  Why  did  you  go  without  a  word  to  me?" 

"Didn't  Mrs.  Wyeth  tell  you?" 

"She  told  me  a  good  deal,  but  I  want  to  know  more. 
Is  it  true — that  about  your  uncles?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  is." 

"Great  Scott,  that's  too  bad!  I  am  mighty  sorry  to 
hear  it.  Look  here,  isn't  there  something  I  can  do?  Do 
they  need " 

"Sshh !  we  mustn't  talk  about  it  over  the  phone.  No, 
there  is  nothing  you  can  do.  I  have  some  plans  par 
tially  worked  out ;  something  may  come  of  them.  Please 
don't  ask  more  particulars  now." 

"All  right,  I  understand ;  I  won't.  But  mayn't  I  come 
down  and  see  you?  I  can  start  West  the  day  after  to 
morrow  just  as  well  and  that  would  give  me  time " 

"No,  Crawford,  no.    You  mustn't  come." 

"I've  a  good  mind  to,  whether  or  no." 

"If  you  do  I  shall  not  see  you — then  or  at  any  other 
time.  But  you  won't,  will  you?" 

"No,  Mary,  I  won't.    It's  mighty  hard,  though." 

Perhaps  it  was  quite  as  hard  for  her,  but  she  did  not 
reply. 

"Will  you  write  me — every  day?"  he  went  on.  .  .  . 
"Why  don't  you  answer?" 

"I  was  thinking  what  would  be  best  for  me  to  do," 
she  said;  "best  for  us  both,  I  mean.  I  shall  write  you 
one  letter  surely." 

"One!" 

"One  surely.  I  want  you  to  understand  just  what  my 
^coming  here  means  and  what  effect  it  may  have  upon 

268 


MARY-'GUSTA 

my  future.    You  should  know  that.    Afterward,  whether 
I  write  you  or  not  will  depend." 

"Depend!  Of  course  you'll  write  me!  Depend  on 
what?" 

"On  what  seems  right  to  me  after  I  have  had  time 
to  think,  and  after  you  have  seen  your  father.  I  must 
go,  Crawford.  Thank  you  for  calling  me.  I  am  glad 
you  did.  Good-by." 

"Wait !    Mary,  don't  go !    Let  me  say  this " 

"Please,  Crawford !  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  say  any 
more.  You  understand  why,  I'm  sure.  I  hope  you  will 
have  a  pleasant  trip  home  and  find  your  father's  health 
much  improved.  Good-by." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  and  hastened  back  to  the 
store.  Shadrach  and  Zoeth  looked  at  her  questioningly. 
Finally  the  former  said: 

"Anything  important,  was  it?" 

"No,  Uncle  Shad,  not  very  important." 

'Oh !" 

A  short  interval  of  silence,  then — 

"Mrs.   Wyeth   callin',   I   presume   likely,   eh?" 

"No,  Uncle  Shad." 

Shadrach  asked  no  more  questions,  and  Zoeth  asked 
none.  Neither  of  them  again  mentioned  Mary's  call  to 
the  phone,  either  to  her  or  to  each  other.  And  she  did 
not  refer  to  it.  She  had  promised  her  Uncle  Shadrach, 
when  he  questioned  her  the  year  before  concerning  Craw 
ford,  to  tell  him  "when  there  was  anything  to  tell."  But 
was  there  anything  to  tell  now?  With  the  task  which 
she  had  set  herself  and  the  uncertainty  before  her  she 
felt  that  there  was  not.  Yet  to  keep  silence  troubled 
her.  Until  recently  there  had  never  been  a  secret  be 
tween  her  uncles  and  herself;  now  there  were  secrets 
on  both  sides. 

269 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT  twelve  o'clock  on  a  night  late  in  the  following 
week  Captain  Shadrach,  snoring  gloriously  in  his 
bed,  was  awakened  by  his  partner's  entering  the 
room  bearing  a  lighted  lamp.  The  Captain  blinked,  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow,  looked  at  his  watch  which  was  on 
the  chair  by  the  bed's  head,  and  then  demanded  in  an 
outraged  whisper: 

"What  in  the  nation  are  you  prowlin'  around  this 
hour  of  the  night  for?  You  don't  want  to  talk  about 
those  divilish  bills  and  credits  and  things,  I  hope.  What's 
the  use?  Talkin'  don't  help  none!  Jumpin'  fire!  I 
went  to  bed  so's  to  forget  'em  and  I  was  just  beginnin' 
to  do  it.  Now  you " 

Zoeth  held  up  his  hand.  "Sshh !  sshh !"  he  whispered. 
"Hush,  Shadrach !  I  didn't  come  to  talk  about  those 
things.  Shadrach,  there's — there's  somethin'  queer  goin' 
on.  Get  up!" 

The  Captain  was  out  of  bed  in  a  moment. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  demanded,  in  a  whisper. 
"What's  queer?" 

"I — I  don't  exactly  know.  I  heard  somebody  movin' 
downstairs  and " 

Shadrach  grunted.  "Isaiah !"  he  exclaimed.  "Walkin' 
in  his  sleep  again,  I'll  bet  a  dollar!" 

"No,  no[  It  ain't  Isaiah.  Isaiah  ain't  walked  in  his 
sleep  since  he  was  a  child." 

"Well,  he's  pretty  nigh  his  second  childhood  now, 
judgin'  by  the  way  he  acts  sometimes.  It  was  Isaiah, 

270 


MARY-'GUSTA 

of  course!  Who  else  would  be  walkin'  around  down 
stairs  this  time  of  night?" 

"That's  what  I  thought,  so  I  went  and  looked.  Shad- 
rach,  it  was  Mary-'Gusta.  Hush!  Let  me  tell  you! 
She  had  her  things  on,  hat  and  all,  and  she  took  the 
lantern  and  lit  it  and  went  out." 

"Went  out!" 

"Yes,  and — and  up  the  road.    Now,  where ?" 

Shadrach's  answer  was  to  stride  to  the  window,  pull 
aside  the  shade  and  look  out.  Along  the  lane  in  the 
direction  of  the  village  a  fiery  spark  was  bobbing. 

"There  she  goes  now,"  he  muttered.  "She's  pretty 
nigh  to  the  corner  already.  What  in  the  world  can  she 
be  up  to?  Where  is  she  bound — at  twelve  o'clock?" 

Zoeth  did  not  answer.  His  partner  turned  and  looked 
at  him. 

"Humph !"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  don't  you  tell  me  the 
whole  of  it  while  you're  about  it?  You're  keepin'  some- 
thin'  back.  Out  with  it!  Do  you  know  where  she's 
bound?" 

Zoeth  looked  troubled — and  guilty.  "Why,  no,  Shad- 
rach,"  he  faltered,  "I  don't  know,  but — but  I  kind  of 
suspect.  You  see,  she — she  did  the  same  thing  last 
night." 

"She  did!    And  you  never  said  a  word?" 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  heard  her  go  and  I 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  her.  She  come  back 
about  three.  I  thought  sure  she'd  speak  of  it  this  mornin', 

but  she  didn't  and — and But  tonight  I  watched 

again  and — Shadrach,  she's  taken  the  store  keys.  Any 
how,  they're  gone  from  the  nail." 

The  Captain  wiped  his  forehead.  "She's  gone  to  the 
store,  then,"  he  muttered,  "Jumpin'!  That's  a  relief, 

anyhow.  I  was  afraid — I  didn't  know Whew !  I 

271 


MARY-'GUSTA 

don't  know  -what  I  didn't  know !  But  what  on  earth  has 
she  gone  to  the  store  for  ?  And  last  night  too,  you  say  ?" 

"Yes.  Shadrach,  I've  been  thinkin'  and  all  I  can  think 
of  is  that— that " 

"Well— what?" 

"That — that  she  suspicions  how  things  are  with  us — 
somebody  that  does  suspicion  has  dropped  a  hint  and 
she  has — has  gone  up  to " 

"To  do  what?  Chuck  it  overboard!  Speak  it  out! 
To  do  what?" 

"To  look  at  the  books  or  somethin'.  She  knows  the 
combination  of  the  safe,  you  recollect." 

Captain  Shadrach's  eyes  and  mouth  opened  simultane 
ously.  He  made  a  dive  for  the  hooks  on  the  bedroom 
wall. 

"Jumpin'  fire  of  brimstone !"  he  roared.  "Give  me  my 
clothes !" 

A  half-hour  later  an  interested  person — and,  so  far 
as  that  goes,  at  least  every  second  person  in  South  Harniss 
would  have  been  interested  had  he  or  she  been  aware 
of  what  was  going  on — an  interested  and,  of  course,  un 
scrupulous  person  peeping  in  under  the  shades  of  Hamil 
ton  and  Company's  window  would  have  seen  a  curious 
sight.  This  person  would  have  seen  two  elderly  men 
sitting  one  upon  a  wooden  chair  and  the  other  upon 
a  wooden  packing  case  and  wearing  guilty,  not  to  say 
hang-dog,  expressions,  while  a  young  woman  standing 
in  front  of  them  delivered  pointed  and  personal  re 
marks. 

Captain  Shadrach  and  Zoeth,  following  their  niece  to 
the  store,  had  peeped  in  and  seen  her  sitting  at  the  desk, 
the  safe  open,  and  account  books  and  papers  spread 
out  before  her.  A  board  in  the  platform  creaked  beneath 
the  Captain's  weighty  tread  and  Mary  looked  up  and  saw 

272 


MARY-'GUSTA 

them.  Before  they  could  retreat  or  make  up  their  minds 
what  to  do,  she  had  run  to  the  door,  thrown  it  open, 
and  ordered  them  to  come  in.  Neither  answered — they 
could  not  at  the  moment.  The  certainty  that  she  knew 
what  they  had  tried  so  hard  to  conceal  kept  them  tongue- 
tied. 

"Come  in !"  repeated  Mary.  "Come  in !  And  shut  the 
door !" 

They  came  in.  Also  Captain  Shadrach  shut  the  door. 
Just  why  he  obeyed  orders  so  meekly  he  could  not  have 
told.  His  niece  gave  him  little  time  to  think. 

"I  did  not  exactly  expect  you,"  she  said,  "but,  on  the 
whole,  I  am  glad  you  came.  Now  sit  down,  both  of  you, 
and  listen  to  me.  What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

Zoeth  sat,  without  a  word.  Shadrach,  however,  made 
a  feeble  attempt  to  bluster. 

"What  do  we  mean  by  it?"  he  repeated.  "What  do 
you  mean,  you  mean!  Perusin'  up  here  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  without  a  word  to  your  Uncle  Zoeth  and 
me,  and — and  haulin'  open  that  safe — and " 

Again  Mary  interrupted. 

"Be  still,  Uncle  Shad !"  she  commanded.  "Sit  down ! 
Sit  down  on  that  box  and  listen  to  me!  That's  right. 
Now  tell  me!  Why  have  you  been  telling  me  fibs  for 
almost  a  year?  Answer  me!  Why  have  you?" 

Zoeth  looked  at  Shadrach  and  the  latter  looked  at 
him. 

"Fibs?"  stammered  Mr.  Hamilton.  "Fibs?  Why- 
why,  Mary-'Gusta !" 

"Yes,  fibs.  I  might  use  a  stronger  word  and  not  ex 
aggerate  very  much.  You  have  led  me  to  think  that 
business  was  good,  that  you  were  doing  as  well  or  better 
than  when  I  was  here  with  you.  I  asked  you  over 
and  over  again  and  you  invariably  gave  me  that  answer. 

273 


MARY-'GUSTA 

And  now  I  know  that  during  all  that  time  you  have 
scarcely  been  able  to  make  ends  meet,  that  you  have 
been  worrying  yourselves  sick,  that  you " 

Captain  Shad  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

"We  ain't,  neither !"  he  declared.  "I  never  was  better 
in  my  life.  I  ain't  had  a  doctor  for  more'n  a  year.  And 
then  I  only  had  him  for  the  heaves — for  the  horse — a 
horse  doctor,  I  mean.  What  are  you  talkin'  about! 
Sick  nothin' !  If  that  swab  of  an  Isaiah  has " 

"Stop,  Uncle  Shad!  I  told  you  to  listen.  And  you 
needn't  try  to  change  the  subject  or  to  pretend  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  talking  about.  I  do  know.  And  as 
for  pretending — well,  there  has  been  pretending  enough. 
What  do  you  mean — you  and  Uncle  Zoeth — by  sending 
me  off  to  school  and  to  Europe  and  declaring  up  and 
down  that  you  didn't  need  me  here  at  home?" 

"We  didn't  need  you,  Mary-'Gusta,"  vowed  Zoeth 
eagerly.  "We  got  along  fust-rate  without  you.  And  we 
wanted  you  to  go  to  school  and  to  Europe.  You  see,  it 
makes  us  feel  proud  to  know  our  girl  is  gettin'  a  fine 
education  and  seein'  the  world.  It  ain't  any  more  than 
she  deserves,  but  it  makes  us  feel  awful  pleased  to  know 
she's  gettin'  it." 

"And  as  for  the  store,"  broke  in  the  Captain,  "I  cal'late 
you've  been  pawin'  over  them  books  and  they've  kind 
of — kind  of  gone  to  your  head.  I  don't  wonder  at  it, 
this  time  of  night!  Hamilton  and  Company's  all  right. 
We  may  be  a  little  mite  behind  in  some  of  our  bills,  but 
— er — but.  .  .  .  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Mary-'Gusta ! 
What  do  you  do  it  for?  Stop  it,  won't  you?" 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"No,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "I  shan't  stop  it.  I  know 
all  about  Hamilton  and  Company's  condition;  perhaps 
I  know  it  better  than  you  do.  This  is  the  fifth  night 

274 


MARY-'GUSTA 

that  I  have  been  working  over  those  books  and  I  should 
know,  at  least." 

"The  fifth  night!     Do  you  mean  to  say " 

"I  mean  that  I  knew  you  wouldn't  tell  me  what  I 
wanted  to  know;  I  had  to  see  these  books  for  myself 
and  at  night  was  the  only  time  I  could  do  it.  But  never 
mind  that  now,"  she  added.  "We'll  talk  of  that  later. 
Other  things  come  first.  Uncle  Shad  and  Uncle  Zoeth, 
I  know  not  only  about  the  affairs  of  Hamilton  and  Com 
pany,  but  about  my  own  as  well." 

Zoeth  leaned  forward  and  stared  at  her.  He  seemed 
to  catch  the  significance  of  the  remark,  for  he  looked 
frightened,  whereas  Shadrach  was  only  puzzled. 

"You — you  know  what,  Mary-'Gusta  ?"  faltered  Zoeth. 
"You  mean ?" 

"I  mean,"  went  on  Mary,  "that  I  know  where  the 
money  came  from  which  has  paid  my  school  bills  and 
for  my  clothes  and  my  traveling  things  and  all  the  rest. 
I  know  whose  money  has  paid  all  my  bills  ever  since 
I  was  seven  years  old." 

Shadrach  rose  from  his  chair.  He  was  as  frightened 
as  his  partner  now. 

"What  are  you  talkin'  about,  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop?" 
he  shouted.  "You  know !  You  don't  know  nothin' ! 
You  stop  sayin'  such  things!  Why  don't  you  stop  her, 
Zoeth  Hamilton?" 

Zoeth  was  speechless.  Mary  went  on  as  if  there  had 
been  no  interruption. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "that  I  haven't  a  penny  of  my 
own  and  never  did  have  and  that  you  two  have  done  it 
all.  I  know  all  about  it — at  last." 

If  these  two  men  had  been  caught  stealing  they  could 
not  have  looked  more  guilty.  If,  instead  of  being  re 
minded  that  their  niece  had  spent  their  money,  they  had 

275 


MARY-'GUSTA 

been  accused  of  misappropriating  hers  they  could  not 
have  been  more  shaken  or  dumbfounded.  Captain  Shad- 
rach  stood  before  her,  his  face  a  fiery  red  and  his  mouth 
opening  and  shutting  in  vain  attempts  at  articulation. 
Zoeth,  his  thin  fingers  extended  in  appeal,  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"Mary-'Gusta,"  he  stammered,  "don't  talk  so !  Please 
don't!" 

Mary  smiled.  "Oh,  yes,  I  shall,  Uncle  Zoeth,"  she 
said.  "I  mean  to  do  more  than  talk  from  now  on,  but 
I  must  talk  a  little  first.  I'm  not  going  to  try  to  tell  you 
what  it  means  to  me  to  learn  after  all  these  years  that 
I  have  been  dependent  on  you  for  everything  I  have 
had,  home  and  luxuries  and  education  and  opportunities. 
I  realize  now  what  sacrifices  you  must  have  made " 

"We  ain't,  neither!"  roared  the  Captain,  in  frantic 
protest.  "We  ain't,  I  tell  you.  Somebody's  been  tellin' 
lies,  ain't  they,  Zoeth?  Why " 

"Hush,  Uncle  Shad !  Someone  has  been  telling  me — 
er — fibs — I  said  that  at  the  beginning;  but  they're  not 
going  to  tell  me  any  more.  I  know  the  truth,  every  bit 
of  it,  about  Father's  losing  his  money  in  stocks  and — 
Uncle  Shad,  where  are  you  going?" 

Captain  Shad  was  halfway  to  the  door.  He  answered 
over  his  shoulder. 

"I'm  goin'  home,"  he  vowed,  "and  when  I  get  there  I'm 
goin'  to  choke  that  dummed  tattle-tale  of  an  Isaiah 
Chase!  I'll  talk  to  you  after  I've  done  it." 

Mary  ran  after  him  and  caught  his  arm. 

"Come  back,  Uncle  Shad !"  she  ordered.  "Come  back, 
sit  down,  and  don't  be  foolish.  I  don't  want  you  to  talk 
to  me!  I  am  going  to  talk  to  you,  and  I'm  not  half 
through  yet.  Besides,  it  wasn't  Isaiah  who  told  me,  it 
was  Judge  Baxter." 

276 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Judge  Baxter  !    Why,  the  everlastin'  old " 

"Hush !  He  couldn't  help  telling  me,  I  made  him  do  it. 
Be  still,  both  of  you,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

She  did  tell  them,  beginning  with  her  meeting  with 
Mr.  Green  at  the  Howe  dinner,  then  of  her  stop  at 
Ostable  and  the  interview  with  Baxter. 

"So  I  have  found  it  all  out,  you  see,"  she  said.  "I'm 
not  going  to  try  to  thank  you — I  couldn't,  if  I  did  try. 
But  I  am  going  to  take  my  turn  at  the  work  and  the 
worry.  To  begin  with,  of  course,  you  understand  that  I 
am  through  with  Boston  and  school,  through  forever." 

There  was  an  excited  and  voluble  protest,  of  course, 
but  she  paid  no  heed  whatever  to  commands  or  entreaties. 

"I  am  through,"  she  declared.  "I  shall  stay  here  and 
help  you.  I  am  only  a  girl  and  I  can't  do  much,  per 
haps,  but  I  truly  believe  I  can  do  something.  I  am  a 
sort  of  silent  partner  now;  you  understand  that,  don't 
you?" 

Shadrach  looked  doubtful  and  anxious. 

"If  I  had  my  way,"  he  declared,  "you'd  go  straight 
back  to  that  school  and  stay  there  long's  we  could  rake 
or  scrape  enough  together  to  keep  you  there.  And  I 
know  Zoeth  feels  the  same." 

"I  sartin  do,"  agreed  Zoeth. 

Mary  laughed  softly.  "But  you  haven't  your  way,  you 
see,"  she  said.  "You  have  had  it  for  ever  so  long  and 
now  I  am  going  to  have  mine.  Your  new  silent  partner 
is  going  to  begin  to  boss  you." 

For  the  first  time  since  he  entered  the  door  of  his 
store  that  night — or  morning — Shadrach  smiled.  It 
wasn't  a  broad  smile  nor  a  very  gay  one,  but  it  was  a 
smile. 

"Um — ya-as,"  he  drawled.  "I  want  to  know,  Mary- 
'Gusta !  I  am  gettin'  some  along  in  years,  but  my  mem- 

277 


MARY-'GUSTA 

ory  ain't  failed  much.  If  I  could  remember  any  day  or 
hour  or  minute  since  Zoeth  and  me  h'isted  you  into 
the  old  buggy  to  drive  you  from  Ostable  here — if  I  could 
remember  a  minute  of  that  time  when  you  hadn't  bossed 
us,  I — well,  I'd  put  it  down  in  the  log  with  a  red  ink 
circle  around  it.  No,  sir-ee!  You've  been  our  skipper 
from  the  start." 

Even  Zoeth  smiled  now  and  Mary  laughed  aloud. 

"But  you  haven't  objected ;  you  haven't  minded  being — 
what  shall  I  call  it? — skipped — by  me,  have  you?"  she 
asked. 

The  Captain  grinned.  "Mind  it!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Umph !  The  only  time  when  we  really  minded  it  was 
these  last  two  years  when  we  ain't  had  it.  We  minded 
missin'  it,  that's  what  we  minded." 

"Well,  you  won't  miss  it  any  more.  Now  help  me  put 
these  things  back  in  the  safe  and  we'll  go  home.  Yes, 
home !  Tomorrow  morning — this  morning,  I  mean — 
we'll  talk  and  I'll  tell  you  some  of  my  plans.  Oh,  yes! 
I  have  plans  and  I  am  in  hopes  they  may  do  great  things 
for  Hamilton  and  Company.  But  no  more  talk  tonight. 
Remember,  the  skipper  is  back  on  board!" 

So  to  the  house  they  went  and  to  bed,  the  Captain  and 
Mr.  Hamilton  under  protest. 


CHAPTER  XX 

NEITHER  Mary  nor  the  Captain  nor  Mr.  Hamilton 
slept  much  of  the  few  hours  until  daylight,  and 
Captain  Shadrach,  who  was  devoured  with  curi 
osity  concerning  the  plans,  would  have  asked  particulars 
before  breakfast,  but  Mary  would  not  listen  to  questions. 
It  was  not  until  breakfast  was  over  and  they  were  back 
in  the  store  that  she  consented  to  discuss  the  subject. 

The  safe  was  reopened  and  the  books  and  papers 
spread  out  upon  the  desk.  Mary  took  up  one  of  the 
sheets  of  paper;  it  was  covered  with  rows  of  figures  in 
her  handwriting. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "it  seems  to  me  that  the  first  thing  is 
to  find  out  exactly  where  we  stand.  When  I  say  'we/  " 
she  added,  with  a  nod  of  great  importance,  "I  mean 
'we,'  because,  as  I  told  you  last  night,  I  am  a  silent  part 
ner  in  the  business  now." 

"Don't  seem  to  be  so  terrible  much  silence,"  observed 
Shadrach  dryly. 

"Hush !  Another  remark  of  that  kind  and  I  shall  set 
you  to  sweeping  out,  Uncle  Shad.  Now,  Uncle  Zoeth, 
according  to  the  books  this  is  what  we  owe." 

She  read  from  the  paper  in  her  hand. 

"That  is  the  total,  Uncle  Zoeth,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 
Zoeth  groaned  and  admitted  that  he  cal'lated  it  was  nigh 
enough. 

"Yes.  But  this,"  holding  up  another  sheet  of  paper, 
"is  what  is  owed  us,  and  it  is  almost  as  much  as  the 
other." 

279 


MARY-'GUSTA 

It  was  Shadrach's  turn  to  groan.  "  Tis  if  we  could 
get  a-hold  of  it,"  he  muttered.  "The  heft  of  the  gang 
on  that  list  ain't  got  a  cent  and  the  bulk  of  the  rest  of 
'em  wouldn't  have  if  they  paid  what  they  owed." 

Mary  nodded  determinedly. 

"There  are  some  that  can  pay,"  she  said.  "Jeremiah 
Clifford,  for  instance.  According  to  the  books  he  owes 
us  over  a  hundred  and  ten  dollars  and  part  of  the  ac 
count  is  three  years  old.  Mr.  Clifford  owns  property. 
He  can't  be  a  poor  man." 

The  Captain  sniffed.  "His  wife  owns  the  property," 
he  said.  "Every  stick's  in  her  name.  Jerry  Clifford's  got 
enough,  but  he  loves  it  too  well  to  let  go  of  it.  Mean ! 
Why,  say!  In  the  old  days,  when  fishin'  schooners  used 
to  run  from  South  Harniss  here,  Jerry  he  was  owner 
and  skipper  of  a  little  hooker  and  Solon  Black  went 
one  v'yage  with  him.  There  was  another  fo'mast  hand 
besides  Jerry  and  Solon  aboard  and  Solon  swears  that 
all  the  hearty  provision  Jerry  put  on  board  for  a  four- 
day  trip  was  two  sticks  of  smoked  herrin'.  For  two  days, 
so  Solon  vows,  they  ate  the  herrin'  and  the  other  two 
they  chewed  the  sticks.  That  may  be  stretchin'  it  a  mite, 
but  anyhow  it  goes  to  show  that  Jerry  Clifford  don't 
shed  money  same  as  a  cat  does  its  hair." 

Zoeth  put  in  a  word. 

"He  says  he'll  pay  pretty  soon,"  he  observed  plain 
tively.  "He's  been  sayin'  it  for  over  a  year,  though." 

"Humph !"  grunted  Shadrach.  "There's  only  a  differ 
ence  of  one  letter  between  'sayin' '  and  'payin','  but  there 
ain't  but  two  between  'trust'  and  'bust.' " 

Mary  spoke.  "Never  mind,"  she  said.  "I  shall  see 
Mr.  Clifford  myself.  And  I  shall  see  some  of  these 
others,  too.  Now  about  our  own  bills — those  we  owe. 
I  have  a  list  of  the  principal  creditors.  Mr.  Green's 

280 


MARY-'GUSTA 

firm  is  one  of  them ;  we  owe  them  most  of  all,  it  seems. 
I  think  I  shall  go  and  see  Mr.  Green  myself." 

"For  the  land  sakes,  what  for?"  demanded  Shadrach. 
"He  knows  how  we're  fixed,  Zoeth  wrote  him." 

"Yes,  but  I  want  to  talk  with  him,  nevertheless." 

"But  what  for?    You  ain't  goin'  beggin'  him  to " 

"I'm  not  going  begging  at  all.  When  I  talked  with 
him  at  the  Howes'  he,  not  knowing  in  the  least  who 
I  was  or  that  I  was  your  niece,  expressed  sympathy  for 
Hamilton  and  Company  and  wished  there  were  some 
way  of  helping  us  out  of  our  trouble — something  he 
could  do,  you  know.  I'm  not  sure  there  isn't  something 
he  can  do.  At  any  rate,  I  am  going  to  see  him.  I  shall 
start  for  Boston  Monday  morning." 

Zoeth  ventured  an  observation. 

"He'll  be  considerable  surprised  to  see  you,  won't  he  ?" 
he  said. 

Mary  laughed.  "I  think  he  will,"  she  replied.  "Sur 
prised  and  a  little  embarrassed.  But  I  imagine  his  em 
barrassment  will  make  him  all  the  more  anxious  to  be 
of  service  to  me,  and  that's  what  I  want  from  him — 
service." 

Of  course  the  partners  asked  hundreds  more  ques 
tions  concerning  the  plans.  Mary's  answers  were  still 
disappointingly  vague.  Before  she  could  tell  just  what 
she  meant  to  do,  she  said  she  must  be  sure,  and  she 
was  not  sure  yet.  A  great  deal  would  depend  upon 
her  Boston  trip.  They  must  be  patient  until  she  returned 
from  that. 

So  they  were  patient — that  is  to  say,  Zoeth  was  really 
so  and  Captain  Shadrach  was  as  patient  as  it  was  his 
nature  to  be.  Mary  was  absent  nearly  a  week.  When 
she  returned  she  had  much  to  tell.  She  had  visited  Mr. 
Green  at  his  office  on  Commercial  Street.  His  surprise 

281 


MARY-'GUSTA 

and  embarrassment  were  all  that  she  had  prophesied. 
He  offered  profuse  apologies  for  his  blunder  at  the 
Howes'. 

"Of  course,  if  I  had  known  of  your  relationship  to 
Captain  Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton,"  he  began,  "I  should 

never Really,   I  am — I  assure  you   I   hadn't  the 

slightest  idea " 

He  was  floundering  like  a  stranded  fish.  Mary  helped 
him  off  the  shoals  by  taking  the  remainder  of  his  apolo 
gies  for  granted. 

"Of  course  you  hadn't,"  she  said.  "But  I  am  very  glad 
you  told  me,  Mr.  Green.  It  was  high  time  I  knew.  Don't 
say  another  word  about  it,  please.  I  have  come  to  you 
to  ask  advice  and,  perhaps,  help  of  a  sort.  May  I  have 
a  little  of  your  time?" 

Mr.  Green  seized  the  opportunity  thus  offered.  In 
deed,  she  might  have  time,  all  the  time  she  wanted.  Any 
thing  in  his  power  to  do — and  so  on.  Being  a  bachelor 
and  something  of  an  elderly  beau  who  prided  himself 
upon  making  a  good  impression  with  the  sex,  it  had 
annoyed  him  greatly,  the  memory  of  his  mistake.  Also  he 
had  been  distinctly  taken  with  Mary  and  was  anxious 
to  reinstate  himself  in  her  opinion.  So  his  willingness 
to  atone  was  even  eager. 

"As  it  happens,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  at  all  busy  this 
afternoon.  I  can  give  you  the  rest  of  the  day,  if  you 
wish.  Now  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Mary  explained  that  she  had  come  to  speak  with  him 
concerning  her  uncles'  business  affairs,  his  house  being 
Hamilton  and  Company's  largest  creditor.  She  told  of 
her  investigations,  of  the  condition  in  which  she  had 
found  the  accounts,  and  of  her  determination  to  remain 
at  South  Harniss  and  work  for  the  upbuilding  of  the 
concern. 

282 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Of  course  I  am  not  a  business  person  like  yourself, 
Mr.  Green,"  she  said.  "I  am  only  a  girl.  But  I  worked 
in  my  uncles'  store  and,  in  a  way,  managed  it  for  two 
years  or  more  before  I  came  to  Boston  to  school.  Be 
side  that  I  have  talked  during  these  last  few  days  with 
some  of  South  Harniss's  most  prominent  people — perma 
nent  residents,  not  summer  people.  From  what  they 
and  others  tell  me  I  am  convinced  that  the  sole  reason 
why  my  uncles'  business  has  fallen  behind  is  because  of 
a  lack  of  keeping  up  to  the  times  in  the  face  of  compe 
tition.  Everyone  likes  Uncle  Zoeth  and  Uncle  Shadrach 
and  wishes  them  well — they  couldn't  help  that,  you 
know." 

She  made  this  assertion  with  such  evident  pride  and 
with  such  absolute  confidence  that  Mr.  Green,  although 
inclined  to  smile,  felt  it  might  be  poor  judgment  to 
do  so.  So  he  agreed  that  there  was  no  doubt  of  Shad- 
rach's  and  Zoeth's  universal  popularity. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Mary,  "they  are  dears,  both  of  them, 
and  they  think  everyone  else  is  as  honest  as  they  are, 
which  is  a  mistake,  of  course.  So  some  people  impose 
on  them  and  don't  pay  their  bills.  I  intend  to  stop  that." 

She  evidently  expected  her  listener  to  make  some  com 
ment,  so  he  said,  "Oh,  indeed !" 

"Yes,"  continued  Mary.  "I  intend  to  stop  their  trust 
ing  everyone  under  the  sun  and  I  shall  try  my  hardest 
to  collect  from  those  they  have  already  trusted.  There 
is  almost  enough  due  to  pay  every  bill  we  owe,  and  I 
believe  two-thirds  of  that  is  collectible  if  one  really  goes 
after  it." 

"And  you  will  go  after  it,  I  presume?" 

"I  most  certainly  shall.  You  are  smiling,  Mr.  Green. 
I  suppose  it  sounds  like  a  joke,  a  girl  like  myself  making 
such  statements  about  things  men  are  supposed  to  un- 

283 


MARY-'GUSTA 

derstand  and  women  not  to  understand  at  all.  It  isn't  a 
joke  in  this  case,  because  I  think  I  understand  my  uncles 
business  better  than  they  do.  I  think  I  can  collect  what 
is  owed  us,  pay  what  we  owe,  and  make  money  there 
in  South  Harniss.  But  to  do  that  I  must  have  time  and, 
by  and  by,  credit,  for  we  need  goods.  And  that  is  what 
I  came  to  talk  to  you  about." 

She  had  brought  with  her  copies  of  the  Hamilton  and 
Company  trial  balance,  also  a  list  of  the  firm's  debtors 
and  creditors.  These  she  put  upon  the  desk  before  Mr. 
Green  and  ran  a  finger  down  the  pages  with  explanatory 
remarks  such  as,  "This  is  good,  I  know,"  "This  can  be 
collected  but  it  may  take  a  lawyer  to  get  it,"  or, 
as  in  the  case  of  'Rastus  Young's  long-standing  indebted 
ness,  "This  isn't  worth  anything  and  shouldn't  be 
counted. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  "we  aren't  in  such 
a  very  bad  state ;  it  isn't  hopeless,  anyway.  Now  here  are 
the  accounts  we  owe.  Yours  is  the  largest.  Here  are  the 
others.  All  these  bills  are  going  to  be  paid,  just  as  I 
said,  but  they  can't  be  paid  at  all  unless  I  have  time. 
I  have  been  thinking,  thinking  very  hard,  Mr. 
Green " 

Green  nodded.  "I  can  see  that,"  he  put  in,  good- 
naturedly. 

"Yes.  Well,  this  is  what  I  want  to  ask  you:  Will 
you  give  us  six  months  more  to  pay  the  whole  of  this 
bill  in?  I  don't  think  we  shall  need  so  much  time,  but 
I  want  to  be  sure.  And  if  at  the  end  of  two  months 
we  have  paid  half  of  it,  will  you  give  us  credit  for  an 
other  small  bill  of  goods  for  the  summer  season,  so  that 
we  may  be  stocked  and  ready?  The  summer  is  our  best 
season,  you  see,"  she  added. 

Mr.  Green  nodded.    Her  businesslike  manner  he  found 
284 


MARY-'GUSTA 

amusing,  although  he  by  no  means  shared  her  confidence 
in  the  future. 

"We  shall  be  very  glad  to  extend  the  time,"  he  said. 
"You  may  remember  I  told  you  the  other  evening  that 
so  far  as  our  house  was  concerned,  we  should  probably 
be  willing  to  sell  your  uncles  indefinitely,  for  old  times' 
sake." 

His  visitor  frowned. 

"We  are  not  asking  it  for  old  times'  sake,"  she  said. 
"It  is  the  new  times  I  am  interested  in.  And  please  un 
derstand  this  isn't  sentiment  but  business.  If  you  do  not 
believe  what  I  ask  to  be  a  safe  business  risk,  that  one 
your  firm  would  be  justified  in  accepting  from  anybody, 
then  you  mustn't  do  it." 

Mr.  Green  hesitated.  "Suppose  I  do  not  accept  that 
risk,"  he  said;  "what  then?" 

"Then  I  shall  go  and  see  some  other  creditors,  the 
principal  ones,  and  make  them  similar  propositions." 

"And  suppose  they  don't  accept?" 

"I  think  they  will,  most  of  them.  If  they  don't — 
well,  then  there  is  another  way.  My  uncles  own  their 
house  and  store.  They  have  been  thinking  of  selling 
their  property  to  pay  their  debts.  I  should  hate  to  have 
them  sell,  and  I  don't  believe  it  is  necessary.  I  have 
been  talking  with  Judge  Baxter  over  at  Ostable — I 
stopped  there  on  my  way  to  Boston — and  he  suggested 
that  they  might  mortgage  and  raise  money  that  way. 
It  could  be  done,  couldn't  it?  Mortgages  are  a  kind 
of  business  I  don't  know  anything  about.  They  sound 
horrid." 

"Sometimes  they  are.  Miss  Lathrop,  if  I  were  you 
I  shouldn't  sell  or  mortgage  yet.  I  am  inclined  to  be 
lieve,  judging  by  this  balance  sheet  and  what  you  say, 
that  you  have  a  chance  to  pull  Hamilton  and  Company 

285 


MARY-'GUSTA 

out  of  the  fire,  and  I'm  very  sure  you  can  do  it  if  anyone 
can.  Are  you  going  to  be  in  the  city  for  a  day  or  two? 
Good !  Then  will  you  let  me  consider  this  whole  matter 
until — say — Thursday?  By  that  time  I  shall  have  made 
up  my  mind  and  may  have  something  to  say  which  will 
be  worth  while.  Can  you  come  in  Thursday  afternoon 
at  two  ?  And  will  you  ?  Very  well.  Oh,  don't  thank  me ! 
I  haven't  done  anything  yet.  Perhaps  I  shall  not  be 
able  to,  but  we  shall  hope  for  the  test." 

Mary  went  straight  to  Mrs.  Wyeth's  home  on  Pinck- 
ney  Street  and  once  more  occupied  her  pleasant  room 
on  the  third  floor.  In  spite  of  her  determination  not 
to  care  she  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  pang  as  she 
walked  by  the  Misses  Cabot's  school  and  remembered 
that  she  would  never  again  enjoy  the  privileges  and 
advantages  of  that  exclusive  institution.  She  wondered 
how  the  girls,  her  classmates,  had  felt  and  spoken  when 
they  heard  the  news  that  she  had  left  them  and  returned 
to  Cape  Cod  and  storekeeping.  Some  would  sneer  and 
laugh — she  knew  that — and  some  might  be  a  little  sorry. 
But  they  would  all  forget  her,  of  course.  Doubtless, 
most  of  them  had  forgotten  her  already. 

But  the  fact  that  all  had  not  forgotten  was  proved 
that  very  evening  when,  as  she  and  Mrs.  Wyeth  and 
Miss  Pease  were  sitting  talking  together  in  the  par 
lor,  Maggie,  the  maid,  answering  the  ring  of  the  door 
bell,  ushered  in  Miss  Barbara  Howe.  Barbara  was,  as 
usual,  arrayed  like  the  lilies  of  the  field,  but  her  fine  petals 
were  decidedly  crumpled  by  the  hug  which  she  gave 
Mary  as  soon  as  she  laid  eyes  upon  her. 

"You  bad  girl!"  she  cried.  "Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  you  were  in  town?  And  why  didn't  you  answer 
my  letter — the  one  I  wrote  you  at  South  Harniss?  I 
didn't  hear  a  word  and  only  tonight,  after  dinner,  I 

286 


MARY-'GUSTA 

had  the  inspiration  of  phoning  Mrs.  Wyeth  and  trying 
to  learn  from  her  where  you  were  and  what  you  meant 
by  dropping  all  your  friends.  Maggie  answered  the 
phone  and  said  you  were  here  and  I  threw  on  my  things 
— yes,  'threw'  is  the  word;  nothing  else  describes  the 
process — and  came  straight  over.  How  do  you  do  ?  And 
what  are  you  doing?" 

Mary  said  she  was  well  and  that  she  had  been  too 
busy  to  reply  to  Miss  Howe's  letter.  But  this  did  not 
satisfy.  Barbara  wanted  to  know  why  she  had  been 
busy  and  how,  so  Mary  told  of  her  determination  to 
remain  in  South  Harniss  and  become  a  business  woman. 
Barbara  was  greatly  excited  and  enthusiastic. 

"Won't  it  be  perfectly  splendid!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
only  wish  I  were  going  to  do  it  instead  of  having  to  stay 
at  that  straight-up-and-down  school  and  listen  to  Prissy's 
dissertations  on  Emerson.  She  told  the  Freshman  class 
the  other  day  that  she  had  had  the  honor  of  meeting 
Mr.  Emerson  when  very  young — when  she  was  young, 
she  meant;  she  always  tells  every  Freshman  class  that, 
you  know — and  one  of  the  Freshies  spoke  up  and  asked 
if  she  ever  met  him  afterwards  when  he  was  older. 
They  said  her  face  was  a  picture ;  I  wish  I  might  have 
seen  it.  But  do  tell  me  more  about  that  wonderful  store 
of  yours.  I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  darling,  because  any 
thing  you  have  anything  to  do  with  is  sure  to  be.  Are 
you  going  to  have  a  tea-room?" 

Mary  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said,  laughing.  "I 
think  not.  There's  too  much  competition." 

"Oh,  but  you  ought  to  have  one.  Not  of  the  ordinary 
kind,  you  know,  but  the — the  other  kind,  the  unusual 
kind.  Why,  I  have  a  cousin — a  second — no,  third  cousin, 
a  relative  of  Daddy's,  she  'is — who  hadn't  much  money 
and  whose  health  wasn't  good  and  the  doctor  sent  her 

287 


MARY-'GUSTA 

to  live  in  the  country.  Live  there  all  the  time!  Only 
fancy!  Oh,  I  forgot  you  were  going  to  do  the  same 
thing.  Do  forgive  me !  I'm  so  sorry !  What  a  perfect 
gump  I  am!  Oh,  dear  me!  There  I  go  again!  And  I 
know  you  abhor  slang,  Mrs.  Wyeth." 

"Tell  me  more  about  your  cousin,  Barbara,"  put  in 
Mary,  before  the  shocked  Mrs.  Wyeth  could  reply. 

"Oh,  she  went  to  the  country  and  took  an  old  house, 
the  funniest  old  thing  you  ever  saw.  And  she  put  up 
the  quaintest  little  sign!  And  opened  a  tea-room  and 
gift  shop.  I  don't  know  why  they  call  them  'gift  shops.' 
They  certainly  don't  give  away  anything.  Far,  far  from 
that,  my  dear!  Daddy  calls  this  one  of  Esther's  'The 
Robbers'  Roost'  because  he  says  she  charges  forty  cents 
for  a  gill  of  tea  and  two  slices  of  toast  cut  in  eight  pieces. 
But  I  tell  him  he  doesn't  pay  for  the  tea  and  toast  alone 
— it  is  the  atmosphere  of  the  place.  He  says  if  he  had 
to  pay  for  all  his  atmosphere  at  that  rate  he  would  be 
asphyxiated  in  a  few  months.  But  he  admires  Esther 
very  much.  She  makes  heaps  and  heaps  of  money." 

"Then  her  tea-room  and  gift  shop  is  a  success?" 

"A  success !  Oh,  my  dear !  It's  a  scream  of  a  suc 
cess!  Almost  any  day  in  summer  there  are  at  least  a 
dozen  motor  cars  outside  the  door.  Everybody  goes 
there;  it's  the  proper  thing  to  do.  I  know  all  this  be 
cause  it  isn't  very  far  from  our  summer  home  in  Clayton 
— in  the  mountains,  you  know." 

"So  she  made  a  success,"  mused  Mary.  "Were  there 
other  tea-rooms  about?" 

"Oh,  dozens !  But  they're  not  original ;  hers  is.  They 
haven't  the — the  something — you  know  what  I  mean, 
Esther  has  the  style,  the  knack,  the — I  can't  say  it,  but 
you  know.  And  you  would  have  it,  too;  I'm  perfectly 
sure  you  would." 

288 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mary  was  evidently  much  interested. 

"I  wish  I  might  meet  your  cousin,"  she  said. 

"Why,  you  can.  She  is  here  in  Boston  now,  buying 
for  the  summer.  I'll  phone  her  and  we  three  will  lunch 
together  tomorrow.  Don't  say  you  won't;  you've  just 
got  to." 

So  Mary,  rather  reluctantly,  consented  to  make  one 
of  the  luncheon  party.  Afterward  she  was  glad  that 
she  did,  for  Miss  Esther  Hemingway — this  was  the 
cousin's  name — was  an  interesting  person.  She  told  Mary 
all  about  her  tea-room  and  gift  shop,  how  she  started 
in  business,  the  mistakes  she  made  at  first,  and  the  les 
sons  she  had  learned  from  experience.  Because  Bar 
bara  had  asked  her  to  do  so  she  brought  with  her  pho 
tographs  of  the  establishment,  its  attractive  and  quaint 
exterior  and  its  equally  delightful  interior. 

"The  whole  secret,"  she  said,  "is  in  keeping  every 
thing  in  good  taste  and  simple.  Choose  the  right  location, 
fit  up  your  rooms  in  taste  and  cheerfully,  serve  the  best 
you  can  find,  and  sell  the  unusual  and  the  attractive 
things  that  other  people  do  not  have,  or  at  least  are 
not  likely  to  have.  Then  charge  adequate  prices." 

"Adequate  being  spelled  A  double  D,"  observed  Bar 
bara  significantly. 

Mary  parted  from  Miss  Hemingway  with  a  new  idea 
in  her  head,  an  idea  that  sometime  or  other  she  meant 
to  put  into  practice. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  she  called  upon  Mr.  Green. 
That  gentleman,  having  had  his  opportunity  to  think, 
was  ready  with  a  proposition.  Briefly  it  was  this:  He 
had  personally  seen  the  principal  creditors  of  Hamilton 
and  Company — they  were  all  Boston  business  houses — 
and  he  and  they  had  agreed  to  make  the  following  offer : 
Hamilton  and  Company's  credit  upon  debts  already  owed 

289 


MARY-'GUSTA 

was  to  be  extended  six  months.  Mary  was  to  go  home, 
endeavor  to  collect  what  money  she  could,  and  with  it 
buy  for  cash  whatever  goods  were  needed  for  the  sum 
mer  season.  If  that  season  was  a  success  and  the  busi 
ness  promised  well  for  the  future,  then  arrangements 
could  be  made  for  future  buying  and  for  paying  the 
old  debt  a  little  at  a  time. 

"At  any  rate,"  concluded  Mr.  Green,  "this  postpones 
the  mortgaging  or  selling  for  a  time  at  least,  and  you 
always  have  -it  to  fall  back  on  if  you  can't  make 
your  new  undertaking  pay.  I  believe  you  can.  I  ad 
vise  you  to  accept.  Your  other  creditors  feel  the 
same  way." 

He  did  not  add,  as  he  might  have  done,  that  the  opin 
ion  of  those  other  creditors  had  been  influenced  almost 
entirely  by  his  own  and  that  in  one  or  two  instances  he 
had  been  obliged  practically  to  underwrite  the  payment 
of  Hamilton  and  Company's  indebtedness  before  gaining 
consent.  He  had  talked  with  Mr.  Howe,  who  in  turn 
had  called  his  daughter  into  consultation,  and  Barbara's 
enthusiastic  praise  of  her  friend  had  strengthened  the 
favorable  impression  which  the  girl  had  already  made 
upon  both  gentlemen.  "Do  you  know,  I  believe  she  may 
win  out,"  observed  Mr.  Howe. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  she  will,"  concurred  Green. 

"Of  course  she  will !"  declared  Barbara  hotly.  "No 
one  who  ever  knew  her  would  be  silly  enough  to  think 
she  wouldn't." 

Hence  Mr.  Green's  underwriting  expedition  and  the 
proposition  to  Mary  as  the  representative  of  Hamilton 
and  Company. 

Mary  accepted,  of  course.  She  was  very  grateful  and 
said  so. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Green.  I  can't 
290 


MARY-'GUSTA 

promise  anything,  but  if  trying  hard  will  win,  I  can 
promise  that,"  she  said. 

"That's  all  right,  that's  all  right.  I  know  you'll  try, 
and  I  think  you'll  succeed.  Now,  why  don't  you  go  up 
and  pick  out  some  of  those  summer  goods?  You  don't 
need  them  yet,  and  you  needn't  pay  for  them  yet,  but 
now  is  the  time  to  select.  Give  my  regards  to  your 
uncles  when  you  see  them  and  tell  them  I  wish  them 
luck.  I  may  be  motoring  down  the  Cape  this  summer 
and  if  I  do  I  shall  drop  in  on  you  and  them." 

Mary  had  news  to  tell  when  she  reached  South  Har- 
niss.  It  was  listened  to  with  attention,  if  not  entirely  in 
silence.  Captain  Shadrach's  ejaculations  of  "You  don't 
say!"  "I  want  to  know!"  and  "Jumpin'  fire,  how  you 
talk !"  served  as  punctuation  marks  during  the  narration. 
When  she  had  finished  her  story,  she  said : 

"And  now,  Uncle  Zoeth  and  Uncle  Shad — now  that 
you've  heard  the  whole  of  it,  and  know  what  my  plan  is, 
what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Both  answers  were  characteristic.  Zoeth  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"The  Almighty  sent  you  to  us,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he 
vowed.  "There  was  a  time  a  little  spell  ago  when  I  begun 
to  think  He'd  pretty  nigh  deserted  us.  I  was  almost 
discouraged  and  it  shook  my  trust — it  shook  my  trust. 
But  now  I  can  see  He  was  just  tryin'  us  out  and  in  His 
good  time  He  sent  you  to  haul  us  off  the  shoals.  He'll 
do  it,  too;  I  know  it  and  I'll  thank  Him  tonight  on  my 
knees." 

Shadrach  shook  his  head.  "By  fire !"  he  cried.  "Mary- 
'Gusta,  I  always  said  you  was  a  wonder.  You've  given 
us  a  chance  to  get  clear  of  the  breakers,  anyhow,  and 
that's  somethin'  we'd  never  have  done  ourselves.  Now, 
if  you  can  collect  that  money  from  Jeremiah  Clifford 

291 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I'll — I'll — I  swan  to  man  I'll  believe  anything's  possi 
ble,  even  Jonah's  swallowin'  the  whale/' 

"Oh,  Shadrach!"  protested  his  partner.  "If  you 
wouldn't  be  so  irreverent !" 

"All  right,  I'll  behave.  But  it's  just  as  I  say :  if  Mary- 
'Gusta  can  get  Jerry  Clifford  to  pay  up  I'll  swallow 
Jonah  and  the  whale,  too.  'Twas  Moses  that  hit  the 
rock  and  the  water  gushed  out,  wa'n't  it?  Um — hm! 
Well,  that  was  somethin'  of  a  miracle,  but  strikin'  Jerry 
Clifford  for  ten  cents  and  gettin'  it  would  be  a  bigger 
one.  Why,  that  feller's  got  fists  like — like  one  of  those 
sensitive  plants  my  mother  used  to  have  in  the  settin'- 
room  window  when  I  was  a  boy.  You  touch  a  leaf  of  one 
of  those  plants  and  'twould  shrivel  up  tight.  Jerry's  fist$ 
are  that  way — touch  one  of  'em  with  a  nickel  and  'twill 
shut  up,  but  not  until  the  nickel's  inside.  No,  sir! 
Ho,  ho!" 

"If  you  knew  all  this,  Uncle  Shad,"  suggested  Mary, 
"why  in  the  world  did  you  sell  Mr.  Clifford  at  all?  If 
he  wouldn't  pay,  why  sell  him?" 

Mr.  Hamilton  answered. 

"He  always  did  pay,"  he  said.  "You  see,  he  had  to 
have  groceries  and  clothes  and  such  and  whenever  he 
needed  more  and  thought  he  owed  us  so  much  we 
wouldn't  put  more  on  the  bill  he'd  pay  a  little  on  account. 
That  way  we  managed  to  keep  up  with  him." 

"Not  exactly  up  with  him,"  commented  the  Captain. 
"We  was  always  a  couple  of  laps  astern,  but  we  could 
keep  him  in  sight.  Now  the  new  stores  have  come  and 
he  can  get  trusted  there  he  don't  buy  from  us — or  pay, 
either.  What's  the  use?  That's  what  he  thinks,  I  car- 
late." 

Mary  considered.  "The  mean  old  sinner!"  she  said. 
"I  should  judge,  Uncle  Shad,  that  what  you  told  me 

292 


MARY-'GUSTA 

once,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  about  the  Free  Masons 
might  apply  to  Mr.  Clifford's  pocketbook.  You  said 
that  once  in  Masonry  a  man  never  got  out.  A  dollar  in 
Mr.  Clifford's  pocketbook  never  gets  out,  either,  does  it?" 

Shadrach  chuckled.  "You  bet  it  don't!"  he  agreed. 
"It's  got  a  life  sentence.  And,  so  fur  as  that  goes,  they 
generally  open  a  Mason  lodge  meetin'  with  prayer,  but 
'twould  take  more'n  that  to  open  Jerry's  pocketbook,  /'// 
bet  you !" 

"And,  nevertheless,"  declared  Mary,  laughing,  "I  mean 
to  make  him  pay  our  bill." 

She  did  make  the  tight-fisted  one  pay  up  eventually,  but 
months  were  to  elapse  before  that  desirable  consumma 
tion  was  reached.  In  the  meantime  she  set  herself  to 
collecting  other  amounts  owed  Hamilton  and  Company 
and  to  building  up  the  trade  at  the  store.  The  collecting 
was  not  so  difficult  as  she  had  expected.  The  Captain 
and  Mr.  Hamilton  had  been  reluctant  to  ask  their  friends 
and  neighbors  to  be  prompt  in  their  payments,  and 
largely  through  carelessness  accounts  had  been  permitted 
to  drop  behind.  Mary  personally  saw  the  debtors  and 
in  most  cases,  by  offering  slight  discounts  or  by  ac 
cepting  installments,  she  was  able  to  obtain  at  least  the 
greater  part  of  the  money  due.  In  some  cases  she  could 
obtain  nothing  and  expected  nothing,  but  these  cases, 
among  them  that  of  'Rastus  Young,  were  rather  to  be 
considered  in  the  light  of  good  riddance  even  at  the  price. 
As  Shadrach  said,  it  was  worth  a  few  dollars  not  to 
have  to  listen  to  'Rastus  or  Mrs.  'Rastus  cry  over  their 
troubles  whenever  they  wanted  to  hold  up  the  firm  for 
more  plunder. 

"Last  time  'Rastus  was  in  to  buy  anything,"  declared 
the  Captain,  "he  shed  so  blamed  many  tears  into  my 
rubber  boots  that  I  got  wet  feet  and  sent  the  boots  to 

293 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  cobbler's  to  have  'em  plugged.  I  cal'lated  they  leaked ; 
I  didn't  realize  'twas  Rat  workin'  me  out  of  four  dollars 
worth  of  groceries  by  water  power." 

The  collections,  then,  those  from  Mr.  Young  and  his 
ilk  excepted,  were  satisfactory.  Mary  was  enabled  to 
buy  and  pay  for  a  modest  assortment  of  summer  sup 
plies,  those  she  had  selected  while  in  Boston.  The  store 
she  had  thoroughly  cleaned  and  renovated.  The  win 
dows  were  kept  filled  with  attractive  displays  of  goods, 
and  the  prices  of  these  goods,  as  set  forth  upon  tickets, 
were  attractive  also.  Business  began  to  pick  up,  not  a 
great  deal  at  first,  but  a  little,  and  as  May  brought  the 
first  of  the  early-bird  summer  cottagers  to  South  Har- 
niss,  the  silent  partner  of  Hamilton  and  Company  awaited 
the  coming  of  what  should  be  the  firm's  busiest  season 
with  hope  and  some  confidence. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DURING  all  this  time  she  had  heard  from  Craw 
ford  at  least  once  a  week.  He  would  have  writ 
ten  oftener  than  that,  had  she  permitted  it.  And 
in  spite  of  her  determination  so  bravely  expressed  in  their 
interview  over  the  telephone,  she  had  written  him  more 
than  the  one  letter  she  had  promised.  In  that  letter — her 
first — she  told  him  the  exact  situation  there  at  home;  of 
her  discovery  that  her  uncles  were  in  trouble,  that  the 
small,  but  to  them  precious,  business  they  had  conducted 
so  long  was  in  danger,  and  of  her  determination  to  give 
up  school  and  remain  at  South  Harniss  where,  she  knew, 
she  was  needed.  Then  she  went  on  to  tell  of  her  still 
greater  discovery,  that  instead  of  being  a  young  woman 
of  independent  means,  she  was  and  always  had  been 
dependent  upon  the  bounty  of  her  uncles. 

You  can  imagine  how  I  felt  when  I  learned  this  [she 
wrote],  when  I  thought  of  all  the  kindness  I  had  accepted 
at  their  hands,  accepted  it  almost  as  if  it  was  my  right,  think 
ing  as  I  did  that  my  own  money  paid.  And  now  to  learn 
that  all  the  time  I  had  nothing  and  they  had  given  of  their 
own  when  they  had  so  little,  and  given  it  so  cheerfully,  so 
gladly.  And,  Crawford,  when  I  told  them  what  I  had  done, 
they  would  not  accept  thanks,  they  would  not  let  me  even 
speak  of  the  great  debt  I  owed  them.  So  far  from  that  they 
acted  as  if  they  were  the  ones  who  owed  and  as  if  I  had 
caught  them  in  some  disgraceful  act.  Why,  if  they  could, 
they  would  have  sent  me  back  to  Boston  and  to  school,  while 

295 


MARY-'GUSTA 

they  remained  here  to  work  and  worry  until  the  bankruptcy 
they  expected  came. 

Do  you  wonder  that  I  feel  my  first  and  whole  duty  is  to 
them  and  that  nothing,  nothing  must  be  permitted  to  inter 
fere  with  it  ?  I  am  going  to  stay  here  and  try  to  help.  Per 
haps  I  shall  succeed,  and  perhaps,  which  is  just  as  probable, 
I  may  fail;  but  at  any  rate  while  my  uncles  live  and  need 
me  I  shall  not  leave  them.  They  gave  all  they  had  to  me 
when  there  was  no  real  reason  why  they  should  give  any 
thing.  The  very  least  I  can  do  is  to  be  with  them  and 
work  for  them  now  when  they  are  growing  old. 

I  am  sure  you  must  understand  this  and  that,  therefore, 
you  will  forget 

She  paused.  "Forget"  was  a  hard  word  to  write.  For 
tunately  she  had  written  it  at  the  top  of  a  page,  so  she 
tore  up  that  sheet  and  began  the  line  again. 

I  am  sure  you  will  understand  and  that  you  will  see  my 
duty  as  I  see  it  myself.  It  seems  to  me  clear.  Everyone 
has  duties,  I  suppose,  but  you  and  I  have  ours  very  plainly 
shown  us,  I  think.  Yours  is  to  your  father  and  mine  to  my 
uncles. 

Bringing  that  letter  to  an  end  was  a  difficult  task. 
There  were  things  which  must  be  said  and  they  were  so 
very  hard  to  say.  At  last,  after  many  attempts: 

I  have  not  referred  [she  wrote]  to  what  you  said  to  me 
when  we  last  met.  It  seems  almost  useless  to  refer  to  it, 
doesn't  it  ?  You  see  how  I  am  placed  here,  and  I  have  writ 
ten  you  what  I  mean  to  do.  And  please  understand  I  am 
doing  it  gladly,  I  am  happy  in  having  the  opportunity  to  do 
it ;  but  it  does  mean  that  for  years  my  life  and  interest  must 
be  here  with  them.  Even  if  I  were  sure  of  my  own  feelings 
— and  perhaps  I  am  not  really  sure — I  certainly  should  not 

296 


MARY-'GUSTA 

think  of  asking  one  I  cared  for  to  wait  so  long.  You  have 
your  future  to  think  of,  Crawford,  and  you  must  think  of  it. 
And  there  is  your  father.  Of  course,  I  don't  know,  but  I 
somehow  feel  certain  that  he  will  not  wish  you  to  marry  me. 
Don't  you  think  it  better  for  us  both  to  end  it  now?  It 
seems  so  hopeless. 

Which,  she  flattered  herself,  was  brave  and  sensible 
and  right.  And,  having  reached  this  commendable  con 
clusion  and  sealed  and  posted  the  letter,  she  came  back 
to  the  house,  went  upstairs  to  her  room,  and,  throwing 
herself  upon  the  bed,  cried  bitterly  for  many  minutes. 

Yet,  in  a  way,  her  tears  were  wasted.  It  takes  two  to 
make  a  bargain  and  although  she  might  notify  Crawford 
Smith  that  his  case  was  hopeless,  it  by  no  means  fol 
lowed  that  that  young  gentleman  would  accept  the  noti 
fication  as  final.  His  reply  to  her  letter  was  prompt  and 
convincing.  All  the  references  to  ending  it  were  calmly 
brushed  aside.  There  could  be  but  two  endings,  one 
being  their  marriage — this,  of  course,  the  logical  and 
proper  ending — and  the  other  Mary's  notifying  him  that 
she  did  not  love  him.  Anything  else  was  nonsense  and 
not  worth  consideration.  Wait!  He  would  wait  fifty 
years  if  necessary,  provided  she  would  wait  for  him. 
He  was  about  to  take  up  his  studies  again,  but  now 
he  would  feel  that  he  was  working  for  her.  His  father, 
he  was  sorry  to  say,  was  not  at  all  well.  He  was  very 
nervous,  weak  and  irritable. 

I  came  home  [he  wrote]  fully  determined  to  tell  him  of 
you  and  my  determination  to  marry  you — always  provided 
you  will  have  me,  you  know — on  the  very  night  of  my  ar 
rival.  But  when  I  saw  how  poor  old  Dad  was  feeling  and 
after  the  doctor  told  me  how  very  necessary  it  was  that  his 
nervous  system  be  allowed  a  complete  rest,  I  decided  I  must 

297 


MARY-'GUSTA 

wait.  So  I  shall  wait;  perhaps  I  shall  not  tell  him  for 
months ;  but  just  as  soon  as  he  is  able  to  hear,  I  shall  speak, 
and  I  am  sure  he  will  say,  "Good  luck  and  God  bless  you." 
But  if  he  doesn't,  it  will  make  not  the  slightest  difference. 
If  you  will  have  me,  Mary  dear,  nothing  on  this  earth  is 
going  to  stop  my  having  you.  That's  as  settled  and  solid  a 
fact  as  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

He  pleaded  for  a  letter  at  least  once  a  week. 

You  needn't  put  a  word  of  love  in  it  [he  wrote].  I  know 
how  conscientious  you  are,  and  I  know  perfectly  well  that 
until  your  mind  is  made  up  you  won't  feel  it  right  to  en 
courage  me  in  the  least.  But  do  please  write,  if  only  to 
tell  me  how  you  are  getting  on  with  Hamilton  and  Company. 
I  only  wish  I  were  there  to  help  you  pull  those  fine  old  uncles 
of  yours  out  of  the  hot  water.  I  know  you'll  do  it,  though. 
And  meanwhile  I  shall  be  digging  away  out  here  and  think 
ing  of  you.  Please  write  often. 

So  Mary,  after  considerable  thought  and  indecision, 
did  write,  although  Crawford's  suggestion  that  her  let 
ters  have  no  word  of  love  in  them  was  scrupulously  fol 
lowed.  And  so,  while  the  summer  came  and  went,  the 
letters  crossed  and  the  news  of  the  slow  but  certain 
building  up  of  the  business  of  Hamilton  and  Company 
was  exchanged  for  that  of  Edwin  Smith's  steady  re 
gaining  of  health  and  strength. 

And  Hamilton  and  Company's  business  was  reviving. 
Even  the  skeptics  could  see  the  signs.  The  revival  be 
gan  before  the  summer  residents  arrived  in  South  Har- 
niss,  but  after  the  latter  began  to  come  and  the  cottages 
to  open,  it  was  on  in  earnest.  John  Keith  helped  to 
give  it  its  first  big  start.  Mrs.  Wyeth  wrote  him  of 
Mary's  leaving  her  school  work  to  go  to  the  rescue  of 

298 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Shadrach  and  Zoeth,  and  the  girl's  pluck  and  uncom 
plaining  acceptance  of  the  task  she  considered  set  for  her 
made  Keith's  eyes  twinkle  with  admiration  as  he  read 
the  letter.  The  family  came  early  to  South  Harniss 
and  this  year  he  came  with  them.  One  of  his  first 
acts  after  arrival  was  to  stroll  down  to  the  village 
and  enter  Hamilton  and  Company's  store.  Mary  and 
the  partners  were  there,  of  course.  He  shook  hands 
with  them  cordially. 

"Well,  Captain,"  he  said,  addressing  Shadrach,  "how 
is  the  new  hand  taking  hold?" 

Shadrach  grinned.  "Hand?"  he  repeated.  "I  don't 
know's  we've  got  any  new  hand,  Mr.  Keith.  Ain't,  have 
we,  Zoeth?" 

Zoeth  did  not  recognize  the  joke.  "He  means  Mary- 
'Gusta,  I  cal'late,  Shadrach,"  he  said.  "She's  doin' 
splendid,  Mr.  Keith.  I  don't  know  how  we  ever  got 
along  without  her." 

"I  do,"  put  in  his  partner  promptly ;  "we  didn't,  that's 
how.  But,  Mr.  Keith,  you  hadn't  ought  to  call  Mary- 
'Gusta  a  'hand.'  Zoeth  and  me  are  the  hands  aboard 
this  craft.  She's  skipper,  and  engineer,  and  purser,  and 
— yes,  and  pilot,  too.  And  don't  she  make  us  tumble 
up  lively  when  she  whistles  !  Whew !  Don't  talk !" 

"She  is  the  boss,  then,  is  she  ?"  observed  Keith. 

"Boss!  I  guess  so!  She's  got  us  trained!  Why,  I've 
got  so  that  I  jump  out  of  bed  nights  and  run  round  the 
room  in  my  sleep  thinkin'  she's  just  hollered  to  me  there's 
a  customer  waitin'.  Oh,  she's  a  hard  driver,  Mary-'Gusta 
is.  Never  had  a  fust  mate  aboard  drove  harder'n  she 
does.  And  it's  havin'  its  effect  on  us,  too.  Look  at 
Zoeth!  He's  agin'  fast;  he's  a  year  older'n  he  was 
twelve  months  ago." 

Keith  laughed,  Mary  smiled,  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  judg- 
299 


MARY-'GUSTA 

ing  by  the  behavior  of  the  company  that  there  was  a 
joke  somewhere  on  the  premises,  smiled  too. 

"You  mustn't  mind  Uncle  Shad,  Mr.  Keith,"  said 
Mary.  "He  talks  a  great  deal." 

"Talkin's  all  the  exercise  my  face  gets  nowadays," 
declared  the  Captain  instantly.  "She  keeps  me  so  busy 
I  don't  get  time  to  eat.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
store,  Mr.  Keith?  Some  improvement,  ain't  it?" 

Keith,  who  had  already  noticed  the  trim  appearance 
of  the  store  and  the  neat  and  attractive  way  in  which 
the  goods  were  displayed,  expressed  his  hearty  approval. 

"And  how  is  business?"  he  asked. 

"Tiptop!"  declared  Shadrach. 

"It's  improvin'  consider'ble,"  said  Zoeth. 

"It  is  a  little  better,  but  it  must  be  far  better  before 
I  am  satisfied,"  said  Mary. 

"How  is  the  cottage  trade?"  asked  Keith. 

"Why,  not  so  very  good.  There  aren't  many  cottagers 
here  yet." 

When  Keith  reached  home  he  called  his  wife  into  con 
sultation. 

"Gertrude,"  he  asked,  "where  do  we  buy  our  household 
supplies,  groceries  and  the  like?" 

"In  Boston,  most  of  them.  The  others — those  I  am 
obliged  to  buy  here  in  South  Harniss — at  that  new  store, 
Baker's." 

"I  want  you  to  buy  them  all  of  Hamilton  and  Com 
pany  hereafter." 

"That  old-fogy  place !    Why  ?" 

"Because  the  partners,  Captain  Gould  and  the  other 
old  chap,  are  having  a  hard  struggle  to  keep  going  and 
I  want  to  help  them." 

Mrs.  Keith  tossed  her  head.  "Humph!"  she  sniffed. 
"I  know  why  you  are  so  interested.  It  is  because  of 

300 


MARY-'GUSTA 

that  upstart  girl  you  think  is  so  wonderful,  the  one  who 
has  been  boarding  with  Clara  Wyeth." 

"You're  right,  that's  just  it.  She  has  given  up  her 
studies  and  her  opportunities  there  in  Boston  and  has 
come  down  here  to  help  her  uncles.  Clara  writes  me 
that  she  was  popular  there  in  the  school,  that  the  best 
people  were  her  friends,  and  you  know  of  her  summer 
in  Europe  with  Letitia  Pease.  Letitia  isn't  easy  to  please 
and  she  is  enthusiastic  about  Mary  Lathrop.  No  ordi 
nary  girl  could  give  up  all  that  sort  of  thing  and  come 
back  to  the  village  where  everyone  knows  her  and  go 
to  keeping  store  again,  and  do  it  so  cheerfully  and  sen 
sibly  and  without  a  word  of  complaint.  She  deserves 
all  the  help  and  support  we  and  our  friends  can  give 
her.  I  mean  to  see  that  she  has  it." 

Mrs.  Keith  looked  disgusted.  "You're  perfectly  infat 
uated  with  that  girl,  John  Keith,"  she  said.  "It  is  ridicu 
lous.  If  I  were  like  some  women  I  should  be  jealous." 

"If  I  were  like  some  men  you  might  be.  Now,  Ger 
trude,  you'll  buy  in  future  from  Hamilton  and  Company, 
won't  you?" 

"I  suppose  so.  When  your  chin  sets  that  way  I  know 
you're  going  to  be  stubborn  and  I  may  as  well  give  in 
first  as  last.  I'll  patronize  your  precious  Mary-'Gusta, 
but  I  won't  associate  with  her.  You  needn't  ask  that." 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  wait  until  she  asks  it  first?" 

"Tut!  tut!  Really,  John,  you  disgust  me.  I  wonder 
you  don't  order  Sam  to  marry  her." 

"From  what  Clara  writes  he  might  not  have  needed 
any  orders  if  he  had  received  the  least  encouragement 
from  her.  Sam  might  do  worse;  I  imagine  he  probably 
will." 

So,  because  John  Keith's  chin  was  set,  the  Keith  cus 
tom  shifted  to  Hamilton  and  Company.  And  because 

301 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  Keiths  were  wealthy  and  influential,  and  because 
the  head  of  the  family  saw  that  that  influence  was 
brought  to  bear  upon  his  neighbors  and  acquaintances, 
their  custom  followed.  Hamilton  and  Company  put  a 
delivery  wagon — a  secondhand  one — out  on  the  road, 
and  hired  a  distinctly  secondhand  boy  to  drive  it.  And 
Mary  and  Shadrach  and  Zoeth  and,  in  the  evenings,  the 
boy  as  well,  were  kept  busy  waiting  on  customers.  The 
books  showed,  since  the  silent  partner  took  hold,  a  real 
and  tangible  profit,  and  the  collection  and  payment  of 
old  debts  went  steadily  on. 

The  partners,  Shadrach  and  Zoeth,  were  no  longer 
silent  and  glum.  The  Captain  whistled  and  sang  and 
was  in  high  spirits  most  of  the  time.  At  home  he  was 
his  old  self,  charring  Isaiah  about  the  housekeeping,  tak 
ing  a  mischievous  delight  in  shocking  his  friend  and 
partner  by  irreverent  remarks  concerning  Jonah  or  some 
other  Old  Testament  personage,  and  occasionally,  al 
though  not  often,  throwing  out  a  sly  hint  to  Mary  about 
the  frequency  of  letters  from  the  West.  Mary  had  told 
her  uncles  of  Crawford's  leaving  Boston  and  returning 
to  Nevada  because  of  his  father's  ill  health.  The  only 
item  of  importance  she  had  omitted  to  tell  was  that  of 
the  proposal  of  marriage.  She  could  not  speak  of  that 
even  to  them.  They  would  ask  what  her  answer  was  to 
be,  and  if  she  loved  Crawford.  How  could  she  answer 
that — truthfully — without  causing  them  to  feel  that  they 
were  blocking  her  way  to  happiness?  They  felt  that 
quite  keenly  enough,  as  it  was. 

So  when  Captain  Shad  declared  the  illness  of  the  South 
Harniss  postmaster — confined  to  his  bed  with  sciatica — 
to  be  due  to  his  having  "stooped  to  pick  up  one  of  them 
eighty-two  page  Wild  West  letters  of  yours,  Mary- 
'Gusta,  and  'twas  so  heavy  he  sprained  his  back  liftin' 

302 


MARY-'GUSTA 

it,"  Mary  only  laughed  and  ventured  the  opinion  that 
the  postmaster's  sprained  back,  if  he  had  one,  was  more 
likely  due  to  a  twist  received  in  trying  to  read  both  sides 
of  a  postcard  at  once.  Which  explanation,  being  of  the 
Captain's  own  brand  of  humor,  pleased  the  latter  im 
mensely. 

"Maybe  you're  right,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  chuckled. 
"Maybe  that's  what  'twas.  Seth  [the  postmaster]  is 
pure  rubber  so  far  as  other  folks'  mail  is  concerned ; 
maybe  he  stretched  the  rubber  too  far  this  time  and  it 
snapped." 

Zoeth  did  not  joke  much — joking  was  not  in  his  line — 
but  he  showed  his  relief  at  the  improvement  in  the  firm's 
affairs  in  quieter  but  as  unmistakable  ways.  When  Mary 
was  at  the  desk  in  the  evenings  after  the  store  had 
closed,  busy  with  the  books,  he  would  come  and  sit 
beside  her,  saying  little  but  occasionally  laying  his  hand 
gently  on  her  shoulder  or  patting  her  arm  and  regard 
ing  her  with  a  look  so  brimful  of  love  and  gratitude 
that  it  made  her  feel  almost  guilty  and  entirely  un 
worthy. 

"Don't,  Uncle  Zoeth,"  she  protested,  on  one  such  oc 
casion.  "Don't  look  at  me  like  that.  I — I Really, 

you  make  me  feel  ashamed.  I  haven't  done  anything. 
I  am  not  doing  half  enough." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You're  doin'  too  much,  I'm  afraid,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he 
said.  "You're  givin'  up  everything  a  girl  like  you  had 
ought  to  have  and  that  your  Uncle  Shadrach  and  I  had 
meant  you  should  have.  You're  givin'  it  up  just  for  us 
and  it  ain't  right.  We  ain't  worthy  of  it." 

"Hush,  hush,  Uncle  Zoeth!  Please!  When  I  think 
what  you  have  given  up  for  me " 

"  'Twa'n't  nothin',  Mary-'Gusta.     You  came  to  your 
303 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Uncle  Shadrach  and  to  me  just  when  we  needed  some- 
thin'  to  keep  our  lives  sweet.  Mine  especial  was  bitter 
and  there  was  danger  'twould  always  be  so.  And  then 
we  brought  you  over  from  Ostable  in  the  old  buggy 
and — and  the  Almighty's  sunshine  came  with  you.  You 
was  His  angel.  Yes,  sir!  His  angel,  that's  what  you 
was,  only  we  didn't  know  it  then.  I  was  pretty  sore 
and  bitter  in  those  days,  thought  I  never  could  forget. 
And  yet — and  yet,  now  I  really  am  forgettin' — or,  if  I 
don't  forget,  I'm  more  reconciled.  And  you've  done  it 
for  me,  Mary-'Gusta." 

Mary  was  puzzled.  "Forget  what?"  she  asked.  "Do 
you  mean  the  business  troubles,  Uncle  Zoeth?" 

Zoeth  seemed  to  waken  from  a  sort  of  dream.  "Busi 
ness  troubles?"  he  repeated.  "No,  no;  long,  long  afore 
that  these  troubles  were,  Mary-'Gusta.  Don't  let's  talk 
about  'em.  I  can't  talk  about  'em  even  now — and  I 

mustn't  think.    There  are  some  troubles  that — that " 

He  caught  his  breath  and  his  tone  changed.  "I  called 
you  an  angel  just  now,  dearie,"  he  went  on.  "Well,  you 
was  and  you  are.  There  are  angels  in  this  world — but 
there's  devils,  too — there's  devils,  too.  There;  the  Lord 
forgive  me!  What  am  I  talkin'  about?  We'll  forget 
what's  gone  and  be  thankful  for  what's  here.  Give  your 
old  uncle  a  kiss,  Mary-'Gusta." 

He  was  happy  in  Mary's  society  and  happy  in  the 
steady  improvement  of  the  business,  but  the  girl  and 
Captain  Shadrach  were  a  little  worried  concerning  his 
general  health.  For  years  he  had  not  been  a  very  strong 
or  active  man,  but  now  he  looked  paler  and  more  frail 
than  ever.  He  walked  to  and  from  the  store  and 
house  several  times  a  day,  but  he  retired  almost  as  soon 
as  he  entered  the  house  at  night  and  his  appetite  was  not 
good. 

304 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"His  nerves  ain't  back  where  they'd  ought  to  be,"  de 
clared  Shadrach.  "He  was  awful  shook  up  when  it 
looked  as  if  Hamilton  and  Company  was  goin'  to  founder. 
He  didn't  keep  blowin'  off  steam  about  it  the  way  I  did 
— my  safety-valve's  always  open — but  he  kept  it  all  in 
side  his  biler  arid  it's  put  his  engine  out  of  gear.  He'll 
get  along  all  right  so  long's  it's  smooth  sailin',  but  what 
I'm  afraid  of  is  a  rock  showin'  up  in  the  channel  un 
expected.  The  doctor  told  me  that  Zoeth  mustn't  worry 
any  more  and  he  mustn't  work  too  hard.  More'n  all,  he 
mustn't  have  any  scares  or  shocks  or  anything  like  that." 

"We  must  try  to  see  that  he  doesn't  have  any,"  said 
Mary. 

"Sartin  sure  we  must,  but  you  can't  always  see  those 
things  in  time  to  head  'em  off.  Now  take  my  own  case. 
I  had  a  shock  this  mornin'.  'Rastus  Young  paid  me  a 
dollar  on  account." 

"What?    'Rastus  Young  paid  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know's  he  paid  it,  exactly.  He  borrowed 
the  dollar  of  one  of  those  summer  fellers  over  at  Ca- 
hoon's  boardin'  house  and  he  was  tellin'  Ab  Bacheldor 
about  it  at  the  corner  by  the  post-office.  Ab,  naturally, 
didn't  believe  any  sane  man  would  lend  Rastus  anything, 
so  he  wanted  proof.  'Rastus  hauled  the  dollar  out  of 
his  pocket  to  show,  and  I  who  happened  to  be  standin' 
behind  'em  without  their  knowin'  it  reached  out  and 
grabbed  it." 

"You  did?    Why,  Uncle  Shad!" 

"Yes.  I  told  'Rastus  I'd  credit  his  account  with  it, 
but  I  don't  know's  I  hadn't  ought  to  give  it  back  to  the 
summer  feller.  Anyhow,  gettin'  it  was  a  shock,  same  as 
I  said  at  the  beginnin'.  'Rastus  says  he's  goin'  to  sue 
me.  I  told  him  I'd  have  sued  him  long  ago  if  I'd  sup 
posed  he  could  steal  a  dollar,  let  alone  borrow  one." 

305 


CHAPTER   XXII 

IT  was  late  in  August  when  Mary  received  the  letter 
from  Crawford  in  which  he  told  of  his  determination 
to  wait  no  longer  but  to  tell  his  father  of  his  love  for 
her.  Edwin  Smith  was  much  better.  By  way  of  proof, 
his  son  inclosed  a  photograph  which  he  had  taken  of  his 
father  sitting  beneath  a  tree  on  the  lawn  of  their  home. 
The  picture  showed  Mr.  Smith  without  his  beard,  which 
had  been  shaved  off  during  his  illness.  Either  this  or 
the  illness  itself  had  changed  him  a  great  deal.  He 
looked  thinner  and,  which  was  odd  under  the  circum 
stances,  younger.  Mary,  looking  at  this  photograph, 
felt  more  than  ever  the  impossible  conviction  that  some 
where  or  other  at  some  time  in  her  life  she  must  have 
met  Mr.  Edwin  Smith. 

So,  in  my  next  letter  [wrote  Crawford],  I  shall  have 
news  to  tell.  And  I  am  sure  it  will  be  good  news.  "Ask 
your  father  first,"  you  said.  Of  course  you  remember  that, 
and  I  have  remembered  it  every  moment  since.  Now  I  am 
going  to  ask  him.  After  that  you  will  give  me  your  answer, 
won't  you?  And  it  can't  be  anything  but  yes,  because  I 
won't  let  it  be. 

What  Mary's  feelings  were  when  she  received  this 
letter,  whether  or  not  she  slept  as  soundly  that  night  and 
other  nights  immediately  following,  whether  or  not  the 
sight  of  Isaiah  returning  from  the  post-office  at  mail 
times  caused  her  breath  to  come  a  little  quicker  and  her 

306 


MARY-'GUSTA 

nerves  to  thrill — these  are  questions  the  answers  to  which 
must  be  guessed.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  she  manifested 
no  marked  symptoms  of  impatience  and  anxiety  dur 
ing  that  week  and  when  at  last  Isaiah  handed  her  an 
other  letter  postmarked  Carson  City  the  trembling  of 
the  hand  which  received  it  was  so  slight  as  to  be  un 
noticed  by  Mr.  Chase. 

She  put  aside  the  letter  until  that  night  when  she 
was  alone  in  her  room.  Then  she  opened  it  and  read 
what  Crawford  had  written.  His  father  had  not  only 
refused  consent  to  his  son's  contemplated  marriage  but 
had  manifested  such  extraordinary  agitation  and  such 
savage  and  unreasonable  obstinacy  that  Crawford  was 
almost  inclined  to  believe  his  parent's  recent  illness  had 
affected  his  mind. 

That  is  the  only  explanation  I  can  think  of  [he  wrote]. 
It  seems  as  if  he  must  be  insane.  And  yet  he  seemed  ra 
tional  enough  at  the  beginning  of  our  first  interview  and 
during  most  of  the  second.  Even  when  I  had  broken  the 
news  that  there  was  a  girl  in  whom  I  felt  an  especial  inter 
est  he  did  not  show  any  sign  of  the  outbreak  that  came 
afterward.  It  wasn't  until  I  began  to  tell  how  I  first  met 
you  there  at  South  Harniss,  who  you  were,  and  about  Cap 
tain  Gould  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  that  I  noticed  he  was  acting 
queerly.  I  was  head  over  heels  in  my  story,  trying  to  make 
plain  how  desperate  my  case  was  and  doing  my  best  to  make 
him  appreciate  how  tremendously  lucky  his  son  was  to  have 
even  a  glimmer  of  a  chance  to  get  a  girl  like  you  for  a  wife, 
when  I  heard  him  make  an  odd  noise  in  his  throat.  I  looked 
up — I  don't  know  where  I  had  been  looking  before— cer 
tainly  not  at  him — and  there  he  was,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  his  face  as  white  as  his  collar,  and  waving  a  hand  at 
me.  I  thought  he  was  choking,  or  was  desperately  ill  or 
something,  and  I  sprang  toward  him,  but  he  waved  me  back. 

307 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Stop!  Wait!"  he  said,  or  stammered,  or  choked;  it  was 
more  like  a  croak  than  a  human  voice.  "Don't  come  here! 
Let  me  be !  What  are  you  trying  to  tell  me  ?  Who — who 
is  this  girl?"  I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter — his  man 
ner  and  his  look  frightened  me — but  he  wouldn't  answer, 
kept  ordering  me  to  tell  him  again  who  you  were.  So  I  did 
tell  him  that  you  were  the  daughter  of  the  Reverend  Charles 
Lathrop  and  Augusta  Lathrop,  and  of  your  mother's  second 
marriage  to  Captain  Marcellus  Hall.  "But  he  died  when 
she  was  seven  years  old,"  I  went  on,  "and  since  that  time 
she  has  been  living  with  her  guardians,  the  two  fine  old  fel 
lows  who  adopted  her,  Captain  Shadrach  Gould  and  Zoeth 
Hamilton.  They  live  at  South  Harniss  on  Cape  Cod."  I  had 
gotten  no  further  than  this  when  he  interrupted  me.  "She 
— she  has  been  living  with  Zoeth  Hamilton?"  he  cried. 
"With  Zoeth  Hamilton!  Oh,  my  God!  Did— did  Zoeth 
Hamilton  send  you  to  me?"  Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  he 
said:  "Did  Zoeth  Hamilton  send  you  to  me?"  I  stared  at 
him.  "Why,  no,  Dad,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  I  could  say  any 
thing.  "Of  course  he  didn't.  I  have  met  Mr.  Hamilton  but 
once  in  my  life.  What  is  the  matter?  Sit  down  again. 
Don't  you  think  I  had  better  call  the  doctor?"  I  thought 
surely  his  brain  was  going.  But  no,  he  wouldn't  answer  or 
listen.  Instead  he  looked  at  me  with  the  wildest,  craziest 
expression  and  said:  "Did  Zoeth  Hamilton  tell  you?"  "He 
told  me  nothing,  Dad,"  I  said,  as  gently  as  I  could.  "Of 
course  he  didn't.  I  am  almost  a  stranger  to  him.  Besides, 
what  in  the  world  was  there  to  tell  ?  I  came  to  you  because 
/  had  something  to  tell.  I  mean  to  marry  Mary  Lathrop,  if 

she  will  have  me "  I  got  no  further  than  that.    "No!" 

he  fairly  screamed.  "No!  No!  No!  Oh,  my  God,  no!" 
And  then  the  doctor  came  running  in,  we  got  Dad  to  bed, 
and  it  was  all  over  for  that  day,  except  that  I  naturally  was 
tremendously  upset  and  conscience-stricken.  I  could  see 
that  the  doctor  thought  I  was  to  blame,  that  I  had  confessed 
something  or  other — something  criminal,  I  imagine  he  sur 
mised — to  Dad  and  that  it  had  knocked  the  poor  old  chap 

308 


MARY-'GUSTA 

over.    And  I  couldn't  explain,  because  what  I  had  told  him 
was  not  for  outsiders  to  hear. 

Well,  after  a  terribly  anxious  night  and  a  worrisome  fore 
noon  the  doctor  told  me  that  father  was  himself  again  and 
wanted  to  see  me  at  once.  "I've  said  all  I  can  against  it," 
said  the  doctor.  "I  don't  know  what  sort  of  rumpus  you 
two  had  yesterday,  but  it  came  dangerously  near  being  the 
finish  for  him.  And  it  must  not  be  repeated;  I'm  making 
that  as  emphatic  as  I  can."  I  assured  him  that  so  far  as  I 
was  concerned  there  would  not  be  a  scene,  and  then  went 
in  to  Dad's  room.  He  looked  white  enough  and  sick  enough 
but  he  was  rational  and  his  mind  was  keen  and  clear.  He 
got  me  to  tell  the  whole  story  about  you  all  over  again  and 
he  asked  a  lot  of  questions;  in  fact,  he  cross-examined  me 
pretty  thoroughly.  When  I  had  finished  his  tone  was  calm, 
but  I  noticed  that  his  hand  was  shaking  and  he  seemed  to 
be  holding  himself  in.  "And  so  you  think  you  want  to  marry 
this  down-east  country  girl,  do  you?"  he  said.  "I  certainly 
do,"  said  I.  He  laughed,  a  forced  laugh — didn't  sound  like 
his  at  all — and  he  said:  "Well,  my  boy,  you'll  get  over  it. 
It's  a  whole  lot  better  to  get  over  it  now  than  to  do  so  by 
and  by  when  it's  too  late.  It's  a  good  thing  I  called  you 
home  when  I  did.  You  stay  here  and  keep  on  with  your 
studies  and  I'll  keep  on  getting  into  shape  again.  By  next 
summer,  when  we  go  on  our  fishing  trip,  you'll  have  forgot 
ten  all  about  your  Down-Easter."  Well,  that  was  a  staggerer, 
coming  from  him.  It  didn't  sound  like  him  at  all,  and  again 
I  had  that  feeling  that  his  mind  was  going.  You  see,  Mary, 
I  never  asked  Dad  for  anything  I  didn't  get — never.  Now, 
I  wasn't  asking,  I  was  just  telling  him  what  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  have,  and  he  treated  me  this  way.  I  answered 
him  calmly  and  quietly,  telling  him  I  was  serious  and  what 
you  meant  to  me.  He  wouldn't  listen  at  first;  then  when 
he  did,  he  wouldn't  agree.  Pleaded  with  me — he  was  lone 
some,  I  was  his  only  son,  he  needed  me,  he  couldn't  share 
me  with  anyone  else,  and  so  on.  There  is  no  use  going  into 
all  the  details.  We  didn't  get  any  nearer  an  agreement,  we 

309 


MARY-'GUSTA 

did  get  nearer  and  nearer  to  bad  temper  on  my  part  and 
shouts  and  hysterics  on  his.  So  I  left  him,  Mary.  That 
was  last  night.  I  knew  Dad  was  inclined  to  be  stubborn,  and 
I  knew  he  had  strong  prejudices,  but  I  never  imagined  he 
could  behave  like  this  to  me.  And  I  am  sure  he  would  not 
if  he  were  himself.  So  I  shall  say  no  more  to  him  on  the 
subject  for  a  day  or  two.  Then,  when  he  is  better,  as  I  am 
hoping  he  may  be  soon,  he  and  I  will  have  another  talk. 
But  understand,  Mary  dear,  my  mind  was  made  up  before 
I  spoke  to  him  at  all.  What  he  says  or  what  he  does  will 
make  no  difference,  so  far  as  you  and  I  are  concerned.  I 
know  you  are  a  believer  in  duty;  well,  so  am  I.  I  would 
stick  by  Dad  through  thick  and  thin.  If  I  knew  he  was 
right  in  asking  me  to  do  or  not  to  do  a  thing,  even  if  I 
knew  he  had  been  wrong  in  asking  other  things,  I  would 
stick  by  him  and  try  to  do  as  he  asked.  But  not  this.  I  love 
Dad,  God  knows  I  do,  but  I  love  you,  Mary,  and  as  I  have 
vowed  to  myself  every  day  since  I  last  saw  you,  I  am  going 
to  marry  you  if  you  will  only  have  me.  As  for  Dad — well, 
we'll  hope  within  a  day  or  two  I  may  have  better  news  to 
write. 

Mary  read  and  reread  the  long  letter.  Then  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  with  the  letter  in  her  lap  sat  there 
— thinking.  She  had  been  right  in  her  forebodings;  it 
was  as  she  had  expected,  had  foreseen:  Edwin  Smith, 
man  of  affairs,  wealthy,  arbitrary,  eccentric,  accustomed 
to  having  his  own  way  and  his  prejudices,  however  ab 
surd,  respected — a  man  with  an  only  son  for  whom, 
doubtless,  plans  definite  and  ambitious  had  been  made, 
could  not  be  expected  calmly  to  permit  the  upsetting 
of  those  plans  by  his  boy's  marriage  to  a  poor  "Down- 
Easter."  So  much  she  had  foreseen  from  the  first,  and 
she  had  never  shared  Crawford's  absolute  confidence  in 
his  parent's  acquiescence.  She  had  been  prepared,  there 
fore,  to  read  that  Mr.  Smith  had  refused  his  consent. 

310 


MARY-'GUSTA 

But  to  be  prepared  for  a  probability  and  to  face  a  cer 
tainty  are  quite  different.  It  was  the  certainty  she  was 
facing  now.  Unless  Mr.  Smith  changed  his  mind,  and 
the  chances  were  ten  to  one  against  that,  he  and  his 
son  would  quarrel.  Crawford  had  inherited  a  portion  of 
his  father's  stubbornness;  he  was  determined,  she  knew. 
He  loved  her  and  he  meant  what  he  said — if  she  would 
have  him  he  would  marry  her  in  spite  of  his  father.  It 
made  her  proud  and  happy  to  know  that.  But  she,  too, 
was  resolute  and  had  meant  what  she  said.  She  would 
not  be  the  cause  of  a  separation  between  father  and  son. 
And,  besides,  marriage  had  become  for  her  a  matter  of 
the  distant  future ;  for  the  present  her  task  was  set  there 
at  South  Harniss. 

What  should  she  do?  It  was  hard  for  Crawford,  poor 
fellow.  Yes,  but  it  was  hard  for  her,  too.  No  one  but 
she  knew  how  hard.  He  would  write  her  again  telling 
her  that  his  decision  was  unchanged,  begging  her  to  say 
she  loved  him,  pleading  with  her  to  wait  for  him.  And 
she  would  wait — Oh,  how  gladly,  how  joyfully  she  could 
wait — for  him! — if  she  knew  she  was  doing  right  in  per 
mitting  him  to  wait  for  her.  If  she  was  sure  that  in  per 
mitting  him  to  give  up  his  father's  love  and  his  home  and 
money  and  all  that  money  could  buy  she  was  justified. 
There  is  a  love  which  asks  and  a  love  which  gives  without 
asking  return ;  the  latter  is  the  greater  love  and  it  was 
hers.  She  had  written  Crawford  that  perhaps  she  was 
not  sure  of  her  feeling  toward  him.  That  was  not  true. 
She  was  sure;  but  because  she  was  fearful  that  his 
knowledge  might  be  the  means  of  entailing  a  great  sacri 
fice  on  his  part,  she  would  not  tell  him. 

What  should  she  do?  She  considered,  as  the  little 
Mary-'Gusta  used  to  consider  her  small  problems  in  that 
very  room.  And  the  result  of  her  considerations  was 

3" 


MARY-'GUSTA 

rather  unsatisfactory.  There  was  nothing  she  could  do 
now,  nothing  but  wait  until  she  heard  again  from  Craw 
ford.  Then  she  would  write. 

She  brushed  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  and  read 
the  letter  again.  There  were  parts  of  it  which  she 
could  not  understand.  She  was  almost  inclined  to  adopt 
Crawford's  suggestion  that  his  father's  mind  might  have 
been  affected  by  his  illness.  Why  had  he  received  so 
passively  the  news  that  his  son  had  fallen  in  love  and 
yet  become  so  violent  when  told  the  object  of  that  love? 
He  did  not  know  her,  Mary  Lathrop;  there  could  be  no 
personal  quality  in  his  objection.  And  what  could  he 
have  meant  by  asking  if  Zoeth  Hamilton  had  sent  Craw 
ford  to  him?  That  was  absolutely  absurd.  Zoeth,  and 
Shadrach,  too,  had  talked  with  Mary  of  Crawford's  peo 
ple  in  the  West,  but  merely  casually,  as  of  complete 
strangers,  which,  of  course,  they  were.  It  was  all  strange, 
but  explainable  if  one  considered  that  Mr.  Smith  was 
weak  and  ill  and,  perhaps,  flighty.  She  must  not  think 
any  more  about  it  now — that  is,  she  must  try  not  to  think. 
She  must  not  give  way,  and  above  all  she  must  not  permit 
her  uncles  to  suspect  that  she  was  troubled.  She  must 
try  hard  to  put  it  from  her  mind  until  Crawford's  next 
letter  came. 

But  that  letter  did  not  come.  The  week  passed,  then 
another,  but  there  was  no  word  from  Crawford.  Mary's 
anxiety  grew.  Each  day  as  Isaiah  brought  the  mail  she 
expected  him  to  give  her  an  envelope  addressed  in  the 
familiar  handwriting,  but  he  did  not.  She  was  growing 
nervous — almost  fearful.  And  then  came  a  happening 
the  shock  of  which  drove  everything  else  from  her  mind 
for  the  time  and  substituted  for  that  fear  another. 

It  was  a  Tuesday  and  one  o'clock.  Mary  and  Captain 
Shadrach,  having  had  an  early  dinner,  had  returned  to 

312 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  store.  Zoeth,  upon  their  arrival,  went  down  to  the 
house  for  his  own  meal.  Business,  which  had  been  very 
good  indeed,  was  rather  slack  just  then  and  Shadrach 
and  Mary  were  talking-  together.  Suddenly  they  heard 
the  sound  of  rapid  footsteps  in  the  lane  outside. 

"Who's  hoofin'  it  up  to  the  main  road  at  that  rate?" 
demanded  the  Captain,  lounging  lazily  toward  the  win 
dow.  "Has  the  town  pump  got  on  fire  or  is  somebody 
goin'  for  the  doctor?" 

He  leaned  forward  to  look.    His  laziness  vanished. 

"Eh !  Jumpin'  Judas !"  he  cried,  springing  to  the  door. 
"It's  Isaiah,  and  runnin'  as  if  the  Old  Boy  was  after  him ! 
Here!  You!  Isaiah!  What's  the  matter?" 

Isaiah  pounded  up  the  platform  steps  and  staggered 
against  the  doorpost.  His  face  flamed  so  red  that,  as 
Shadrach  said  afterward,  it  was  "a  wonder  the  perspira 
tion  didn't  bile." 

"I— I— I "  he  stammered.  "I— Oh,  dear  me !  What 

shall  I  do  ?  He — he — he's  there  on  the  floor  and — and — 
Oh,  my  godfreys!  I'm  all  out  of  wind!  What  shall  I 
do?" 

"Talk!"  roared  the  Captain.  "Talk!  Use  what  wind 
you've  got  for  that!  What's  happened?  Sing  out!" 

"He's — he's  all  alone  there !"  panted  Mr.  Chase.  "He 
won't  speak,  scurcely — only  moans.  I  don't  know's  he 
ain't  dead!" 

"Who's  dead?  Who ?  Who ?  Who ?"  The  irate  Shad 
rach  seized  his  steward  by  the  collar  and  shook  him,  not 
too  gently.  "Who's  dead?"  he  bellowed.  "Somebody 
will  be  next  door  to  dead  right  here  in  a  minute  if  you 
don't  speak  up  instead  of  snortin'  like  a  puffin'  pig. 
What's  happened?" 

Isaiah  swallowed,  gasped  and  waved  a  desperate  hand. 
"Let  go  of  me!"  he  protested.  "Zoeth — he — he's  down 

313 


MARY-'GUSTA 

in  a  heap  on  the  kitchen  floor.  He's  had  a — a  stroke  or 
somethin'." 

"God  A'mighty!"  cried  Shadrach,  and  bolted  out  of 
the  door.  Mary  followed  him  and  a  moment  later,  Mr. 
Chase  followed  her.  The  store  was  left  to  take  care  of 
itself. 

They  found  poor  Zoeth  not  exactly  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor  of  the  kitchen,  but  partially  propped  against  one 
of  the  kitchen  chairs.  He  was  not  unconscious  but  could 
speak  only  with  difficulty.  They  carried  him  to  the  bed 
room  and  Isaiah  was  sent  on  another  gallop  after  the 
doctor.  When  the  latter  came  he  gave  his  patient  a 
thorough  examination  and  emerged  from  the  sickroom 
looking  grave. 

"You  must  get  a  nurse,"  he  said.  "This  is  likely  to 
last  a  long  while.  It  is  a  slight  paralytic  stroke,  I  should 
say,  though  what  brought  it  on  I  haven't  the  least  idea. 
Has  Mr.  Hamilton  had  any  sudden  shock  or  fright  or 
anything  of  that  sort?" 

He  had  not,  so  far  as  anyone  knew.  Isaiah,  being  ques 
tioned,  told  of  Zoeth's  coming  in  for  dinner  and  of  his 
— Isaiah's — handing  him  the  morning's  mail. 

"I  fetched  it  myself  down  from  the  post-office,"  said 
Isaiah.  "There  was  a  couple  of  Hamilton  and  Company 
letters  and  the  Wellmouth  Register  and  one  of  them 
circulum  advertisements  about  So-and-So's  horse  lini 
ment,  and,  and — yes,  seems  to  me  there  was  a  letter  for 
Zoeth  himself.  He  took  'em  all  and  sot  down  in  the 
kitchen  to  look  'em  over.  I  went  into  the  dinin'-room. 
Next  thing  I  knew  I  heard  him  say,  *O  God!'  just  like 
that." 

"Avast  heavin',  Isaiah!"  put  in  Captain  Shadrach. 
"You're  way  off  your  course.  Zoeth  never  said  that. 
That's  the  way  7  talk,  but  he  don't." 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"He  done  it  this  time,"  persisted  Isaiah.  "I  turned  and 
looked  through  the  doorway  at  him  and  he  was  standin' 
in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  floor.  Seems  to  me  he  had 
a  piece  of  white  paper  in  his  hand — seem's  if  he  did.  And 
then,  afore  I  could  say  a  word,  he  kind  of  groaned  and 
sunk  down  in — in  a  pile,  as  you  might  say,  right  on  the 
floor.  And  I  couldn't  get  him  up,  nor  get  him  to  speak 
to  me,  nor  nothin'.  Yet  he  must  have  come  to  enough  to 
move  after  I  left  and  to  crawl  acrost  and  lean  against 
that  chair." 

The  horse  liniment  circular  and  the  Wellmouth  Regis 
ter  were  there  on  the  kitchen  table  just  where  Mr.  Ham 
ilton  had  laid  them.  There,  also,  were  the  two  letters 
addressed  to  Hamilton  and  Company.  Of  the  letter 
which  Isaiah  seemed  to  remember  as  addressed  to  Zoeth 
personally,  there  was  no  sign. 

"Are  you  sure  there  was  such  a  letter,  Isaiah?"  asked 
Mary. 

Mr.  Chase  was  not  sure;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  not 
sure  more  than  a  minute  at  a  time.  The  minute  follow 
ing  he  was  inclined  to  think  he  might  have  been  mis 
taken,  perhaps  it  was  yesterday  or  the  day  before  or 
even  last  week  that  his  employer  received  such  a  letter. 

Captain  Shadrach  lost  patience. 

"Sure  'twan't  last  Thanksgivin'  ?"  he  demanded.  "Are 
you  sure  about  anything?  Are  you  sure  how  old  you 
are?" 

"No,  by  godfreys,  I  ain't!"  roared  Isaiah  in  despera 
tion.  "I'm  so  upsot  ever  since  I  looked  into  that  kitchen 
and  see  the  poor  soul  down  on  the  floor  there  that — that 
all  I'm  sure  of  is  that  I  ain't  sure  of  nothin'." 

"Well,  I  don't  know's  I  blame  you  much,  Isaiah," 
grunted  the  Captain.  "Anyway,  it  doesn't  make  much 
difference  about  that  letter,  so  fur  as  I  see,  whether  there 

315 


MARY-'GUSTA 

was  one  or  not.  What  did  you  want  to  know  for, 
Mary?" 

Mary  hesitated.  "Why,"  she  answered,  "I — perhaps 
it  is  foolish,  but  the  doctor  said  something  about  a 
shock  being  responsible  for  this  dreadful  thing  and  I 
didn't  know — I  thought  perhaps  there  might  have  been 
something  in  that  letter  which  shocked  or  alarmed 
Uncle  Zoeth.  Of  course  it  isn't  probable  that  there 
was." 

Shadrach  shook  his  head. 

"I  guess  not,"  he  said.  "I  can't  think  of  any  letter 
he'd  get  of  that  kind.  There's  nobody  to  write  it.  He 
ain't  got  any  relations  nigher  than  third  cousin,  Zoeth 
ain't.  Anyhow,  we  mustn't  stop  to  guess  riddles  now. 
I'll  hunt  up  the  letter  by  and  by,  if  there  was  one  and 
I  happen  to  think  of  it.  Now  I've  got  to  hunt  up  a 
nurse." 

The  nurse  was  found,  a  Mrs.  Deborah  Atkins,  of 
Ostable,  and  she  arrived  that  night,  bag  and  baggage, 
and  took  charge  of  the  patient.  Deborah  was  not  orna 
mental,  being  elderly  and,  as  Captain  Shadrach  said, 
built  for  tonnage  more  than  speed ;  but  she  was  sensible 
and  capable.  Also,  her  fee  was  not  excessive,  although 
that  was  by  no  means  the  principal  reason  for  her  selec 
tion. 

"Never  mind  what  it  costs,"  said  Mary.  "Get  the 
best  you  can.  It's  for  Uncle  Zoeth,  remember." 

Shadrach's  voice  shook  a  little  as  he  answered. 

"I  ain't  likely  to  forget,"  he  said.  "Zoeth  and  I've 
cruised  together  for  a  good  many  years  and  if  one  of 
us  has  to  go  under  I'd  rather  'twas  me.  I  haven't  got 
much  money  but  what  I've  got  is  his,  and  after  that  so 
long  as  I  can  get  trusted.  But  there,"  with  an  attempt 
at  optimism,  "don't  you  fret,  Mary-'Gusta.  Nobody's 

316 


MARY-'GUSTA 

goin'  under  yet  We'll  have  Zoeth  up  on  deck  doin'  the 
fishers'  hornpipe  in  a  couple  of  weeks." 

But  it  was  soon  plain  to  everyone,  the  Captain  in 
cluded,  that  many  times  two  weeks  must  elapse  before 
Mr.  Hamilton  would  be  able  to  appear  on  deck  again, 
to  say  nothing  of  dancing  hornpipes.  For  days  he  lay 
in  partial  coma,  rallying  occasionally  and  speaking  at 
rare  intervals  but  evidently  never  fully  aware  of  where 
he  was  and  what  had  happened. 

"He  will  recover,  I  think,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  it  will 
be  a  slow  job." 

Mary  did  not  again  refer  to  the  letter  regarding  which 
Isaiah's  memory  was  so  befogged.  In  fact,  she  forgot 
it  entirely.  So  also  did  Captain  Shad.  For  both  the  worry 
of  Zoeth's  illness  and  the  care  of  the  store  were  sufficient 
to  drive  trifles  from  their  minds. 

And  for  Mary  there  was  another  trouble,  one  which 
she  must  keep  to  herself.  Three  weeks  had  elapsed 
since  Crawford's  letter,  that  telling  of  his  two  fateful 
interviews  with  his  father,  and  still  no  word  had  come 
from  him.  Mary  could  not  understand  his  silence.  In 
vain  she  called  her  philosophy  to  her  rescue,  striving  to 
think  that  after  all  it  was  best  if  she  never  heard  from 
him  again,  best  that  a  love  affair  which  could  never  end 
happily  were  ended  at  once,  best  that  he  should  come  to 
see  the  question  as  his  father  saw  it — best  for  him,  that 
is,  for  his  future  would  then  be  one  of  ease  and  happiness. 
All  this  she  thought — and  then  found  herself  wondering 
why  he  had  not  written,  imagining  all  sorts  of  direful 
happenings  and  feeling  herself  responsible. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ONE  evening,  about  a  week  after  Mr.  Hamilton's 
sudden  seizure,  Mary  was  in  her  room  alone. 
She  had  again  reread  Crawford's  latest  letter  and 
was  sitting  there  trying  to  imagine  the  scene  as  he  had 
described  it.  She  was  trying  to  picture  Edwin  Smith,  the 
man  who — as  his  son  had  so  often  told  her — indulged  that 
son's  every  whim,  was  kindness  and  parental  love  per 
sonified,  and  yet  had  raved  and  stormed  like  a  madman 
because  the  boy  wished  to  marry  her,  Mary  Lathrop. 

She  rose,  opened  the  drawer  of  her  bureau,  and  took 
out  the  photograph  of  Mr.  Smith,  the  one  which  showed 
him  without  his  beard,  the  one  taken  since  his  illness. 
Crawford  had  written  that  this  photograph,  too,  had  been 
taken  on  the  sly. 

"Dad's  prejudice  against  photos  is  as  keen  as  ever," 
"he  wrote.  "He  would  slaughter  me  on  the  spot  if  he 
knew  I  had  snapped  him." 

The  face  in  the  picture  was  not  that  of  the  savage, 
unrelenting  parent  of  the  old  plays,  who  used  to  disin 
herit  his  sons  and  drive  his  daughters  out  into  blinding 
snowstorms  because  they  dared  thwart  his  imperial  will. 
Edwin  Smith  was  distinctly  a  handsome  man,  gray-haired, 
of  course,  and  strong-featured,  but  with  a  kind  rather 
than  a  stern  expression.  As  Mary  had  said  when  she 
first  saw  his  likeness,  he  looked  as  if  he  might  have 
had  experiences.  In  this  photograph  he  looked  very 
grave,  almost  sad,  but  possibly  that  was  because  of  his 
recent  sickness. 


MARY-'GUSTA 

She  was  looking  at  the  picture  when  Isaiah's  voice  was 
heard  outside  the  door. 

"Hi,  Mary-'Gusta,"  whispered  Mr.  Chase.  "Ain't 
turned  in  yet,  have  you?  Can  I  speak  with  you  a  min 
ute?" 

"Certainly,  Isaiah,"  said  Mary.     "Come  in!" 

Isaiah  entered.  "  'Twan't  nothin'  special,"  he  said. 
"I  was  just  goin'  to  tell  you  that  Debby  T.  cal'lates  Zoeth 
is  a  little  mite  easier  tonight.  She  just  said  so  and  I 
thought  you'd  like  to  know." 

By  "Debby  T."  Isaiah  meant  Mrs.  Atkins.  Mary  un 
derstood. 

"Thank  you,  Isaiah,"  she  said.  "I  am  ever  so  glad  to 
hear  it.  Thank  you  for  telling  me." 

"That's  all  right,  Mary-'Gusta.  Hello!  who's  tin 
type's  that?" 

He  had  caught  sight  of  the  photograph  upon  the  arm 
of  Mary's  chair.  He  picked  it  up  and  looked  at  it.  She 
heard  him  gasp.  Turning,  she  saw  him  staring  at  the 
photograph  with  an  expression  of  absolute  amazement — 
amazement  and  alarm. 

"Why,  Isaiah!"  she  cried.     "What  is  the  matter?" 

Isaiah,  not  taking  his  eyes  from  the  picture,  ex 
tended  it  in  one  hand  and  pointed  to  it  excitedly  with  the 
other. 

"For  godf reys  mighty  sakes !"  he  demanded.  "Where 
did  you  get  that?" 

"Get  what  ?    The  photograph  ?" 

"Yes!  Yes,  yes!  Where'd  you  get  it?  Where'd  it 
come  from?" 

"It  was  sent  to  me.    What  of  it  ?    What  is  the  matter  ?" 

Isaiah  answered  neither  question.  He  seemed  to  have 
heard  only  the  first  sentence. 

"Sent  to  you!"  he  repeated.  "Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop, 

319 


MARY-'GUSTA 

have  you  been  tryin'  to  find  out — Look  here!  who  sent 
you  Ed  Farmer's  picture?" 

Mary  stared  at  him.  "Whose  picture?"  she  said. 
"What  are  you  talking  about,  Isaiah?" 

Isaiah  thrust  the  photograph  still  closer  to  the  end  of 
her  nose.  Also  he  continued  to  point  at  it. 

"Who  sent  you  Ed  Farmer's  picture?"  he  repeated. 
"Where — where'd  you  get  it?  You  tell  me,  now." 

Mary  looked  him  over  from  head  to  foot. 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  send  for  Uncle  Shad  or 
the  doctor,"  she  said,  slowly.  "If  you  don't  stop  hopping 
up  and  down  and  waving  your  arms  as  if  they  worked 
by  strings  I  shall  probably  send  for  both.  Isaiah  Chase, 
behave  yourself!  What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

Isaiah,  during  his  years  as  sea  cook,  had  learned  to 
obey  orders.  Mary's  tone  had  its  effect  upon  him.  He 
dropped  one  hand,  but  he  still  held  the  photograph  in  the 
other.  And  he  stared  at  it  as  if  it  possessed  some  sort  of 
horrible  charm  which  frightened  and  fascinated  at  the 
same  time.  Mary  had  never  seen  him  so  excited. 

"Ed  Farmer!"  he  exclaimed.     "Oh,  I  swan  to  man! 

I  don't  see  how Say,  it  is  him,  ain't  it,  Mary-'Gusta  ? 

But  of  course  'tis !    I  can  see  'tis  with  my  own  eyes.    My 
godfreys  mighty!" 

Mary  shook  her  head.  "If  I  didn't  know  you  were 
a  blue  ribboner,  Isaiah,"  she  said,  "I  should  be  suspicious. 
That  photograph  was  sent  me  from  the  West.  It  is  a 
picture  of  a  gentleman  named  Edwin  Smith,  someone  I 
have  never  seen  and  I'm  perfectly  sure  you  never  have. 
Why  in  the  world  it  should  make  you  behave  as  if  you 
needed  a  strait-jacket  I  can't  see.  Does  Mr.  Smith 
resemble  someone  you  know?" 

Isaiah's  mouth  fell  open  and  remained  so  as  he  gazed 
first  at  the  photograph  and  then  at  her. 

320 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Ed — Edwin  Smith,"  he  repeated.  "Edwin  Smith! 
I — I  don't  know  no  Edwin  Smith.  Look  here,  now; 
honest,  Mary-'Gusta,  aw't  that  a  picture  of  Ed  Farmer  ?" 

Mary  laughed.  "Of  course  it  isn't,"  she  said.  "Who 
is  Ed  Farmer,  pray?" 

Isaiah  did  not  answer.  He  was  holding  the  photo 
graph  near  the  end  of  his  own  nose  now  and  examining 
it  with  eager  scrutiny,  muttering  comments  as  he  did  so. 

"If  it  ain't  him  it's  a  better  picture  than  if  'twas," 
was  one  of  his  amazing  observations.  "Don't  seem  as 
if  two  folks  could  look  so  much  alike  and  not  be.  And 
yet — and  yet  I  can  see — I  can  see  now — this  feller's  hair's 
pretty  nigh  white  and  Ed's  was  dark  brown.  But  then 
if  this  feller  was  Ed  he'd  be — he'd  be — let's  see — he'd  be 
all  of  thirty-five  years  older  than  he  was  thirty-five  years 
ago  and  that  would  account " 

Mary  burst  out  laughing. 

"Do  be  still,  Isaiah !"  she  broke  in.  "You  are  perfectly 
idiotic.  That  man's  name  is  Smith,  I  tell  you." 

Mr.  Chase  heaved  a  sigh.  "You're  sartin  'tis?"  he 
asked. 

"Of  course  I  am." 

"Well,  then  I  cal'late  it  must  be.  But  if  Ed  Farmer 
had  lived  all  these  years  and  had  had  his  tintype  took 
he  wouldn't  get  one  to  favor  him  more  than  that  does, 
I  bet  you.  My,  it  give  me  a  start,  comin'  onto  me  so 
unexpected !" 

"But  who  is  Ed  Farmer  ?"  asked  Mary.  The  name  had 
meant  nothing  to  her  so  far.  And  yet,  even  as  she  spoke 
she  remembered.  Her  expression  changed. 

"Do  you  mean "  she  cried,  eagerly.    "Why,  Isaiah, 

do  you  mean  the  man  in  that  old  photograph  I  found  in 
the  garret  ever  and  ever  so  long  ago?  The  one  you  told 
me  was  a — a  blackguard?" 

321 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Isaiah,  still  staring  at  Mr.  Smith's  likeness,  answered 
emphatically. 

"That's  the  one,"  he  said.  "That's  the  one  I  meant. 
My,  this  feller  does  look  like  him,  or  the  way  I  cal'late 
he  would  look  if  he  lived  as  long  as  this !" 

"Is  he  dead,  then?" 

"I  don't  know.  We  don't  any  of  us  know  around 
here.  I  ain't  laid  eyes  on  him  since  the  day  afore  it 
happened.  I  remember  just  as  well  as  if  'twas  yesterday. 
He  come  out  of  the  office  onto  the  wharf  where  I  was 
workin'  and  he  says  to  me,  'Isaiah,'  he  says,  knockin'  on 
the  head  of  a  barrel  with  his  hand — the  right  hand  'twas, 
the  one  that  had  the  bent  finger ;  he  got  it  smashed  under 
a  hogshead  of  salt  one  time  and  it  never  came  straight 
again — 'Isaiah,'  says  he,  'it's  a  nice  day,  ain't  it.'  And  I 
answered  up  prompt — I  liked  him  fust-rate;  everybody 
liked  him  them  days — 'Yes,  sir,'  I  says,  'this  is  a  good 
enough  day  to  go  see  your  best  girl  in.'  I  never  meant 
nothin'  by  it,  you  understand,  just  a  sayin'  'twas,  but  it 
seemed  to  give  him  a  kind  of  start.  He  looked  at  me 
hard.  'Did  anyone  tell  you  where  I  was  goin'?'  says  he, 
sharp.  'Why,  no,'  says  I.  'Why  should  they?'  He 
didn't  answer,  just  kept  on  starin'  at  me.  Then  he 
laughed  and  walked  away.  I  didn't  know  where  he  was 
goin'  then,  but  I  know  now,  darn  him!  And  the  next 
day  he  went — for  good." 

He  stopped  speaking.  Mary  waited  a  moment  and 
then  asked,  quietly:  "Went  where,  Isaiah?  Where  did 
he  go?" 

Isaiah,  who  was  standing,  the  photograph  still  in  his 
hand,  started,  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  say,  where  did  this  Mr.  Farmer  go?" 

"Eh?    Oh,  I  don't  know.    He  went  away,  that's  all. 

322 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Don't  ask  me  any  more  questions.  I've  been  talkin'  too 
much,  anyhow,  I  cal'late.  Cap'n  Shad  would  skin  me 
alive  if  he  knew  I'd  said  as  much  as  I  have.  Say, 
Mary-'Gusta,  don't  you  say  nothin'  to  either  him  or  Zoeth, 
will  you?  You  see — it's — it's  a  kind  of  little  secret  we 
have  amongst  us  and — and  nobody  else  is  in  on  it.  'Twas 
this  plaguey  tintype  got  me  to  talkin'.  No  wonder 
neither !  I  never  see  such  a  look  on  two  folks.  I — there, 
there!  Good  night,  Mary-'Gusta,  good  night." 

He  tossed  the  photograph  on  the  bureau  and  hurried 
out  of  the  room.  Mary  called  after  him,  but  he  would 
neither  stop  nor  answer. 

After  he  had  gone  Mary  took  up  the  photograph,  seated 
herself  once  more  in  the  chair,  and  studied  the  picture 
for  a  long  time.  Then  she  rose  and,  lamp  in  hand, 
left  the  room,  tiptoed  along  the  hall  past  the  door  of 
Captain  Shadrach's  room,  and  up  the  narrow  stairs  to 
the  attic,  her  old  playground. 

Her  playthings  were  there  still,  arranged  in  her  cus 
tomary  orderly  fashion  along  the  walls.  Rose  and  Ro 
sette  and  Minnehaha  and  the  other  dolls  were  seated  in 
their  chairs  or  the  doll  carriage  or  with  their  backs 
against  Shadrach's  old  sea  chest  She  had  never  put 
them  away  out  of  sight.  Somehow  it  seemed  more  like 
home  to  her,  the  knowledge  that  though  she  would  never 
play  with  them  again,  they  were  there  waiting  for  her 
in  their  old  places.  While  she  was  away  at  school  they 
had  been  covered  from  the  dust  by  a  cloth,  but  now  the 
cloth  had  been  taken  away  and  she  herself  dusted  them 
every  other  morning  before  going  up  to  the  store.  As 
Shadrach  said,  no  one  but  Mary-'Gusta  would  ever  have 
thought  of  doing  such  a  thing.  She  did,  because  she  was 
Mary-'Gusta. 

However,  the  dolls  did  not  interest  her  now.  She 
323 


MARY-'GUSTA 

tiptoed  across  the  garret  floor,  taking  great  care  to 
avoid  the  boards  which  creaked  most,  and  lifted  the  lid 
of  the  old  trunk  which  she  had  first  opened  on  that  Sat 
urday  afternoon  nearly  ten  years  before.  She  found 
the  pocket  on  the  under  side  of  the  lid,  opened  it  and 
inserted  her  hand.  Yes,  the  photograph  of  Hall  and 
Company  was  still  there,  she  could  feel  the  edge  of  it 
with  her  fingers. 

She  took  it  out,  and  closed  the  pocket  and  then  the 
trunk,  and  tiptoed  down  the  stairs  and  to  her  room  again. 
She  closed  the  door,  locked  it — something  she  had  never 
done  in  her  life  before — and  placing  the  photograph  she 
had  taken  from  the  trunk  beside  that  sent  her  by  Craw 
ford,  sat  down  to  compare  them. 

And  as  she  looked  at  the  two  photographs  her  wonder 
at  Isaiah's  odd  behavior  ceased.  It  was  not  strange  that 
when  he  saw  Mr.  Edwin  Smith's  likeness  he  was  aston 
ished;  it  was  not  remarkable  that  he  could  scarcely  be 
convinced  the  photograph  was  not  that  of  the  mysterious 
Ed  Farmer.  For  here  in  the  old,  yellow  photograph  of 
the  firm  of  "Hall  and  Company,  Wholesale  Fish  Deal 
ers,"  was  Edgar  S.  Farmer,  and  here  in  the  photograph 
sent  her  by  Crawford  was  Edwin  Smith.  And  save  that 
Edgar  S.  Farmer  was  a  young  man  and  Edwin  Smith  a 
man  in  the  middle  sixties,  they  were  almost  identical  in 
appearance.  Each  time  she  had  seen  Mr.  Smith's  photo 
graph  she  had  felt  certain  she  must  have  met  the  original. 
Here  was  the  reason — this  man  in  the  other  photograph. 
The  only  difference  was  the  difference  of  age.  Edwin 
Smith  had  a  nose  like  Edgar  Farmer's,  and  a  chin  like 
his  and  eyes  like  his.  And  Isaiah  had  just  said  that 
Edgar  Farmer  had  a  crooked  finger  on  his  right  hand 
caused  by  an  accident  with  a  hogshead  of  salt.  Mary 
remembered  well  something  Crawford  had  told  her,  that 

324 


MARY-'GUSTA 

his  father  had  a  finger  on  the  right  hand  which  had  been 
hurt  in  a  mine  years  before  he,  Crawford,  was  born. 

It  could  not  be,  of  course — it  could  not  be — and  yet 

Oh,  what  did  it  mean? 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IN  his  own  room  at  the  end  of  the  second-story  hall, 
over  the  kitchen,  Mr.  Chase  was  sitting  reading  the 
local  paper  before  retiring.  It  was  a  habit  he  had, 
one  of  which  Captain  Shadrach  pretended  to  approve 
highly.  "Best  thing  in  the  world,  Isaiah,"  declared  the 
Captain.  "Sleep's  what  everybody  needs  and  I  can't  think 
of  any  surer  way  of  gettin'  to  sleep  than  readin'  the  South 
Harniss  news  in  that  paper." 

Whether  or  not  this  unkind  joke  was  deserved  is  not 
material ;  at  all  events  Isaiah  was  reading  the  paper  when 
he  was  very  much  startled  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Who — who  is  it?"  he  stammered. 

"It  is  Mary,"  whispered  a  voice  outside  the  door.  "I 
want  to  speak  with  you,  Isaiah.  You're  not  in  bed,  are 
you?" 

Isaiah  reluctantly  relinquished  the  paper.  "No,  no," 
he  replied,  "I  ain't  in  bed.  What's  the  matter?  Zoeth 
ain't  no  worse,  is  he?" 

"Let  me  in  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"Come  on  in.    You  don't  need  no  lettin'." 

Mary  entered.     She  was  very  grave  and  very  earnest. 

"What  in  the  nation,"  began  Isaiah,  "are  you  prowlin' 
around  this  hour  of  the  night  for?" 

"Hush !  Isaiah,  you  must  tell  me  everything  now. 
There's  no  use  to  say  you  won't — you  must.  Who  was 
Edgar  Farmer  and  what  wrong  did  he  do  my  uncles?" 

Isaiah  said  nothing ;  he  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  In 
stead  he  gaped  at  her  with  such  an  expression  of  guilty 

326 


MARY-'GUSTA 

surprise,  fright,  and  apprehension  that  at  any  other  time 
she  would  have  laughed.  Just  now,  however,  she  was 
far  from  laughing. 

"Come!  come!"  she  said,  impatiently.  "I  mean  it.  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  this  Edgar  Farmer." 

"Now — now,  Mary-'Gusta,  I  told  you " 

"You  told  me  a  very  little.  Now  I  want  to  know  the 
rest.  Everyone  else  in  this  family  knows  it  and  it  is 
time  I  did.  I'm  not  a  child  any  more.  Tell  me  the  whole 
story,  Isaiah." 

"I  shan't  neither.  Oh,  by  godfreys,  this  is  what  I  get 
by  sayin'  more'n  I  ought  to!  And  yet  how  could  I 
help  it  when  I  see  that  tintype?  It's  just  my  luck! 
Nobody  else  but  me  would  have  had  the  dratted  luck  to 
have  that  picture  stuck  into  their  face  and  eyes  unex 
pected.  And  'twas  just  so  when  you  found  that  other 
one  years  ago  up  attic.  I  had  to  be  the  one  you  sprung 
it  on !  7  had  to  be !  But  I  shan't  tell  you  nothin' !" 

"Yes,  you  will.     You  must  tell  me  everything." 

"Well,  I  shan't." 

"Very  well.    Then  I  shall  go  straight  to  Uncle  Shad." 

"To  who  ?  To  Cap'n  Shad!  Oh,  my  godfreys  mighty ! 
You  go  to  him  and  see  what  he'll  say !  Just  go !  Why, 
he'd  shut  up  tighter'n  a  clam  at  low  water  and  he'd  give 
you  fits  besides.  Go  to  Cap'n  Shad  and  ask  about  Ed 
Farmer!  My  soul!  You  try  it!  Aw,  don't  be  foolish, 
Mary-'Gusta." 

"I'm  not  going  to  be  foolish,  Isaiah.  If  I  go  to  Uncle 
Shad  I  shall  tell  him  that  it  was  through  you  I  learned 
there  was  such  a  person  as  the  Farmer  man  and  that 
there  was  a  secret  connected  with  him,  that  it  was  a  dis 
agreeable  secret,  that " 

"Hush!  Land  sakes  alive!  Mary-'Gusta,  don't  talk 
so!  Why,  if  you  told  Cap'n  Shad  he'd — I  don't  know 

327 


MARY-'GUSTA 

what  he  wouldn't  do  to  me.  If  he  knew  I  told  you  about 
Ed  Farmer  he'd — I  swan  to  man  I  believe  he'd  pretty 
nigh  kill  me!" 

"Well,  you'll  soon  know  what  he  will  do,  for  unless 
you  tell  me  the  whole  story,  I  shall  certainly  go  to  him." 

"Aw,  Mary-'Gusta " 

"I  surely  shall.  And  if  he  won't  tell  me  I  shall  go  to 
someone  outside  the  family — to  Judge  Baxter,  perhaps. 
He  would  tell  me,  I'm  sure,  if  I  asked.  No,  Isaiah,  you 
tell  me.  And  if  you  do  tell  me  all  freely  and  frankly, 
keeping  nothing  back,  I'll  say  nothing  to  Uncle  Shad  or 
Uncle  Zoeth.  They  shall  never  know  who  told." 

Mr.  Chase  wrung  his  hands.  Ever  since  he  had  been 
cook  at  the  white  house  by  the  shore  he  had  had  this 
duty  laid  upon  him,  the  duty  of  keeping  his  lips  closed 
upon  the  name  of  Edgar  Farmer  and  the  story  connected 
with  that  name.  When  Captain  Shadrach  first  engaged 
him  for  his  present  situation  the  Captain  had  ordered  him 
never  to  speak  the  name  or  mention  the  happenings  of 
that  time.  And  after  little  Mary  Lathrop  became  a  regu 
lar  and  most  important  member  of  the  family,  the  com 
mand  was  repeated.  "She  mustn't  ever  know  if  we  can 
help  it,  Isaiah,"  said  Shadrach,  solemnly.  "You  know 
Zoeth  and  how  he  feels.  For  his  sake,  if  nothin'  else, 
we  mustn't  any  of  us  drop  a  hint  so  that  she  will  know. 
She'll  find  out,  I  presume  likely,  when  she  gets  older; 
there'll  be  some  kind  soul  around  town  that'll  tell  her,  con- 
sarn  'em;  but  we  shan't  tell  her ;  and  if  you  tell  her,  Isaiah 
Chase,  I'll — I  declare  to  man  I'll  heave  you  overboard !" 

And  now  after  all  these  years  of  ignorance  during 
which  the  expected  had  not  happened  and  no  one  of 
the  village  gossips  had  revealed  the  secret  to  her — now, 
here  she  was,  demanding  that  he,  Isaiah  Chase,  reveal 
it,  and  threatening  to  go  straight  to  Captain  Gould  and 

328 


MARY-'GUSTA 

tell  who  had  put  her  upon  the  scent.  No  wonder  the 
cook  and  steward  wrung  his  hands  in  despair;  the  heav 
ing  overboard  was  imminent. 

Mary,  earnest  and  determined  as  she  was  to  learn 
the  truth,  the  truth  which  she  was  beginning  to  believe 
might  mean  so  much  to  her,  nevertheless  could  not  help 
pitying  him. 

"Come,  come,  Isaiah,"  she  said,  "don't  look  so  tragic. 
There  isn't  anything  so  dreadful  about  it.  Have  you 
promised — have  you  given  your  word  not  to  tell?  Be 
cause  if  you  have  I  shan't  ask  you  to  break  it.  I  shall 
go  to  Judge  Baxter  instead — or  to  Uncle  Shad.  But  of 
course  I  shall  be  obliged  to  tell  how  I  came  to  know — 
the  little  I  do  know." 

Mr.  Chase  did  not  like  the  prospect  of  her  going  to  the 
Captain,  that  was  plain.  For  the  first  time  his  obstinacy 
seemed  to  waver. 

"I — I  don't  know's  I  ever  give  my  word,"  he  admitted. 
"I  never  promised  nothin',  as  I  recollect.  Cap'n  Shad 
he  give  me  orders " 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course  he  did.  Well,  now  I'm  giving  you 
orders.  And  I  promise  you,  Isaiah,  if  it  ever  becomes 
necessary  I'll  stand  between  you  and  Uncle  Shad.  Now 
tell  me." 

Isaiah  sat  down  upon  the  bed  and  wiped  his  forehead. 

"Oh,  Lordy!"  he  moaned.  "I  wisht  my  mouth  had 
been  sewed  up  afore  ever  I  said  a  word  about  any  of 
it.  ...  But — but  .  .  .  Well,"  desperately,  "what  is  it 
you  want  to  know?" 

"I  want  to  know  everything.  Begin  at  the  beginning 
and  tell  me  who  Mr.  Farmer  was." 

Mr.  Chase  marked  a  pattern  on  the  floor  with  his  slip 
pered  foot.  Then  he  began: 

"He  come  from  up  Cape  Ann  way  in  the  beginnin'," 

329 


MARY-'GUSTA 

he  said.  "The  rest  of  the  firm  was  Cape  Codders,  but 
he  wan't.  However,  he'd  been  a-fishin'  and  he  knew  fish 
and  after  the  firm  was  fust  started  and  needed  an  extry 
bookkeeper  he  applied  and  got  the  job.  There  was  three 
of  'em  in  Hall  and  Company  at  fust,  all  young  men  they 
was,  too;  your  stepfather,  Cap'n  Marcellus  Hall,  he 
was  the  head  one ;  and  Mr.  Zoeth,  he  was  next  and  Cap'n 
Shad  next.  'Twan't  until  three  or  four  year  afterwards 
that  Ed  Farmer  was  took  in  partner.  He  was  so  smart 
and  done  so  well  they  .give  him  a  share  and  took  him  in. 

"Everybody  liked  him,  too.  He  was  younger  even  than 
the  rest,  and  fine  lookin'  and  he  had  a — a  kind  of  way 
with  him  that  just  made  you  like  him.  The  way  the 
business  was  handled  was  somethin'  like  this :  Cap'n  Mar 
cellus,  your  stepfather,  Mary-'Gusta,  he  and  Cap'n  Shad 
done  the  outside  managin',  bossin'  the  men — we  had  a 
lot  of  'em  on  the  wharf  them  days,  too,  and  there  was 
always  schooners  unloadin'  and  carts  loadin'  up  and  fel 
lers  headin'  up  barrels — Oh,  Hall  and  Company's  store 
and  docks  was  the  busiest  place  on  the  South  Shore.  You 
ask  anybody  that  remembers  and  they'll  tell  you  so. 

"Well,  Cap'n  Marcellus  and  Cap'n  Shad  was  sort  of 
outside  bosses,  same  as  I  said,  and  Zoeth  he  was  sort  of 
general  business  boss,  'tendin'  to  the  buyin'  supplies  and 
payin'  for  'em  and  gettin'  money  and  the  like  of  that,  and 
Ed — Edgar  Farmer,  I  mean — he  was  inside  office  boss, 
lookin'  out  for  the  books  and  the  collections  and  the  bank 
account  and  so  on.  Marcellus  and  Zoeth  and  Cap'n  Shad 
was  old  chums  and  had  been  for  years ;  they  was  as  much 
to  each  other  as  brothers  and  always  had  been;  but  it 
wan't  so  very  long  afore  they  thought  as  much  of  Farmer 
as  they  did  of  themselves.  He  was  that  kind — you 
couldn't  help  takin'  a  notion  to  him. 

"When  I  get  to  talkin'  about  Hall  and  Company  I  could 

330 


MARY-'GUSTA 

talk  for  a  month  of  Sundays.  Them  was  great  days — 
yes,  sir,  great  days  for  South  Harniss  and  the  fish  busi 
ness.  Why  I've  seen,  of  a  Saturday  mornin'  in  the 
mackerel  season,  as  many  as  forty  men  ashore  right  here 
in  town  with  money  in  their  pockets  and  their  hats  on 
onesided,  lookin'  for  fun  or  trouble  just  as  happened 
along.  And  Cap'n  Marcellus  and  his  partners  was  looked 
up  to  and  respected;  not  much  more'n  boys  they  wan't, 
but  they  was  big-bugs,  I  tell  you,  and  they  wore  beaver 
hats  to  church  on  Sunday,  every  man  jack  of  'em.  Fur's 
that  goes,  I  wore  one,  too,  and  you  might  not  think  it,  but 
'twas  becomin'  to  me  if  I  do  say  it.  Yes,  sir-ee !  'Twas 
a  kind  of  curl-up  brim  one,  that  hat  was,  and " 

"Never  mind  the  hat  now,  Isaiah,"  interrupted  Mary. 
"Tell  me  about  Mr.  Farmer." 

Isaiah  looked  offended.  "I  am  tellin'  you,  ain't  I?" 
he  demanded.  "Ain't  I  tellin'  you  fast  as  I  can?" 

"Perhaps  you  are.    We  won't  argue  about  it.    Go  on." 

"Well — well,  where  was  I?  You've  put  me  clear  off 
my  course." 

"You  were  just  going  to  tell  me  what  Mr.  Farmer  did." 

"What  he  did !  What  didn't  he  do,  you'd  better  say ! 
The  blackguard!  He  smashed  the  firm  flat,  that's  what 
he  done !  And  he  run  off  with  Marcellus's  sister." 

"Marcellus's  sister!  My  stepfather's  sister!  I  didn't 
know  he  ever  had  a  sister.  Are  you  sure  he  had?" 

"Am  I  sure!  What  kind  of  talk's  that?  Course  I'm 
sure !  She  was  younger  than  Marcellus  and  pretty — say, 
she  was  pretty!  Yes,  the  outside  of  her  figurehead  was 
mighty  hard  to  beat,  everybody  said  so;  but  the  inside 
was  kind  of — well,  kind  of  rattly,  as  you  might  say. 
She'd  laugh  and  talk  and  go  on  and  Ed  Farmer  he'd 
hang  over  the  desk  there  in  the  office  and  look  at  her. 
Just  look — and  look — and  look.  How  many  times  I've 

331 


MARY-'GUSTA 

seen  'em  that  way!  It  got  so  that  folks  begun  to  talk 
a  little  mite.  Marcellus  didn't,  of  course ;  he  idolized  that 
girl,  worshiped  her  like  a  vain  thing,  so's  to  speak.  And 
Cap'n  Shad,  course  he  wouldn't  talk  because  he's  always 
down  on  tattle-tales  and  liars,  but  I've  always  thought 
he  was  a  little  mite  suspicious  and  troubled.  As  for  poor 
Zoeth — well,  it's  always  his  kind  that  are  the  last  to 
suspect.  And  Zoeth  was  as  innocent  then  as  he  is  now. 
And  as  good,  too. 

"And  then  one  day  it  come  out,  come  down  on  us  like 
the  mainmast  goin'  by  the  board.  No,  come  to  think  of 
it,  it  didn't  come  all  to  once  that  way.  Part  of  it  did, 
but  the  rest  didn't.  The  rest  kind  of  leaked  out  along 
slow,  gettin'  a  little  mite  worse  every  day.  I  can  see 
it  just  as  plain  as  if  'twas  yesterday — Marcellus  and  Shad- 
rach  in  the  office  goin'  over  the  books  and  addin'  up 
on  pieces  of  paper,  and  it  gettin'  worse  and  worse  all 
the  time.  And  the  whole  town  a-talkin' !  And  poor 
Zoeth  lyin'  in  his  bedroom  there  to  home,  out  of  his  mind 
and  ravin'  distracted  and  beggin'  and  pleadin'  with  his 
partners  not  to  chase  'em,  to  let  'em  go  free  for  her  sake. 
And  the  doctor  a-comin'!  And " 

Mary  began  to  feel  that  she,  too,  was  in  danger  of 
raving  distraction.  Between  her  anxiety  to  hear  the 
story  and  her  forebodings  and  growing  suspicions  she 
was  becoming  more  and  more  nervous  as  Isaiah  rambled 
on. 

"Wait !  Wait,  please,  Isaiah !"  she  begged.  "I  don't 
understand.  What  had  happened?" 

Isaiah  regarded  her  with  surprise  and  impatience. 

"Ain't  I  been  tellin'  you?"  he  snapped,  testily.  "Ain't 
I  this  minute  told  you?  This  Ed  Farmer  had  cleared 
out  and  run  off  and  he'd  took  with  him  every  cent  of  Hall 
and  Company's  money  that  he  could  rake  and  scrape. 

332 


MARY-'GUSTA 

He'd  been  stealin'  and  speculatin'  for  years,  it  turned  out. 
'Twas  him,  the  dum  thief,  him  and  his  stealin's  that  made 
the  firm  fail.  Wan't  that  enough  to  happen,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  But  that  wan't  all ;  no,  sir,  that  wan't  the  worst 
of  it." 

He  paused,  evidently  expecting  his  hearer  to  make 
some  comment.  She  was  leaning  forward,  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  his  face,  but  she  did  not  speak.  Mr.  Chase,  judging 
by  her  expression  that  he  had  created  the  sensation 
which,  as  story-teller,  he  considered  his  due,  went  on. 

"No,  sir-ee!  that  wan't  the  worst  of  it.  You  and  me 
might  have  thought  losin'  all  our  money  was  the  worst; 
that  could  be,  but  Marcellus  and  Shadrach  didn't  think 
so.  Marcellus  was  pretty  nigh  stove  in  himself — there 
was  nothin'  on  earth  he  loved  the  way  he  loved  that  sis 
ter  of  his — but  when  he  and  Cap'n  Shad  thought  of  poor 
Zoeth  they  couldn't  think  of  much  else.  Shadrach  had 
liked  her  and  Marcellus  had  loved  her,  but  Zoeth  had 
fairly  bowed  down  and  worshiped  the  ground  she  trod 
on.  Anything  she  wanted,  no  matter  what,  she  could 
have  if  'twas  in  Zoeth's  power  to  get  it  for  her.  He'd 
humored  her  and  spiled  her  as  if  she  was  a  child  and  all 
he  asked  for  doin'  it  was  that  she'd  pat  him  on  the 
head  once  in  a  while,  same  as  you  would  a  dog.  And 
now  she'd  gone — run  off  with  that  thief !  Why " 

Mary  interrupted  again.  "Wait!  Wait,  Isaiah,"  she 
cried.  "I  tell  you  I  don't  understand.  You  say — you  say 
Captain  Hall's  sister  had  gone  with  Mr.  Farmer?" 

"Sartin !  she  run  off  with  him  and  nobody's  laid  eyes 
on  either  of  'em  since.  That  was  why " 

"Stop!  stop!  What  I  don't  understand  is  why  Uncle 
Zoeth  was  so  stricken  by  the  news.  Why  had  he  humored 
and  spoiled  her?  Was  he  in  love  with  her?" 

Isaiah  stared  at  her  in  blank  astonishment. 
333 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"In  love  with  her!"  he  repeated.  "Course  he  was! 
Why  wouldn't  he  be  ?  Wan't  she  his  wife  ?" 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  sensation  now.  The 
color  slowly  faded  from  Mary's  cheeks. 

"His  wife?"  she  repeated  slowly. 

"Sartin !  They'd  been  married  'most  five  year.  Didn't 
I  tell  you?  She  was  a  good  deal  younger'n  he  was, 
but " 

"Wait !    What — what  was  her  name  ?" 

"Eh?  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  neither?  That's  funny. 
Her  name  was  Patience — Patience  Hall." 

The  last  doubt  was  gone.  Clear  and  distinct  to  Mary's 
mind  came  a  sentence  of  Crawford's:  "I  saw  her  name 
first  on  the  gravestone  and  it  made  an  impression  on  me 
because  it  was  so  quaint  and  old-fashioned.  'Patience, 
wife  of  Edwin  Smith/  " 

She  heard  very  little  of  Isaiah's  story  thereafter.  Scat 
tered  sentences  reached  her  ears.  Isaiah  was  telling  Row, 
because  of  Zoeth's  pleading  and  the  latter's  desire  to 
avoid  all  the  public  scandal  possible,  no  attempt  was  made 
to  trace  the  fugitives. 

"They  went  West  somewheres,"  said  Isaiah.  "Any 
how  'twas  supposed  they  did  'cause  they  was  seen  together 
on  the  Chicago  train  by  an  Orham  man  that  knew  Farmer. 
Anybody  but  Marcellus  and  your  uncles,  Mary-'Gusta, 
would  have  sot  the  sheriff  on  their  track  and  hauled  'em 
back  here  and  made  that  Farmer  swab  give  up  what  he 
stole.  I  don't  imagine  he  had  such  a  terrible  lot  with 
him,  I  cal'late  the  heft  of  it  had  gone  in  stock  speculatin', 
but  he  must  have  had  somethin'  and  they  could  have  got 
a-holt  of  that.  But  no,  Zoeth  he  says,  'Don't  follow  'em ! 
For  her  sake  and  mine — don't  make  the  shame  more  pub 
lic  than  'tis.'  You  see,  Zoeth  was  the  same  then  as  he 
is  now ;  you'd  have  thought  he  was  to  blame  to  hear  him 

334 


MARY-'GUSTA 

talk.  He  never  said  a  word  against  her  then  nor  since. 
A  mighty  good  man,  your  Uncle  Zoeth  Hamilton  is, 
Mary-'Gusta.  Saint  on  earth,  I  call  him." 

He  went  on  to  tell  how  Marcellus  and  Shadrach  had 
fought  to  keep  the  firm  on  its  feet,  how  for  a  time  it 
struggled  on  against  the  load  of  debt  left  it  by  their 
former  partner,  only  to  go  down  at  last. 

"Marcellus  went  down  with  it,  as  you  might  say,"  con 
tinued  Isaiah.  "Between  losin'  his  sister  and  losin'  his 
business  he  never  was  the  same  man  afterwards,  though 
he  did  make  consider'ble  money  in  other  ways.  Him  and 
Cap'n  Shadrach  both  went  back  to  seafarin'  again  and 
after  a  spell  I  went  with  'em.  Poor  Zoeth,  when  he  got 
on  his  feet,  which  took  a  long  spell,  he  started  a  little 
store  that  by  and  by,  when  Cap'n  Shad  joined  in  with  him, 
was  Hamilton  and  Company,  same  as  now.  And  when 
Shadrach  come  I  come  too,  as  cook  and  steward,  you 
understand.  But  from  that  day  to  this  there's  been  two 
names  never  mentioned  in  this  house,  one's  Patience 
Hall's  and  t'other's  Ed  Farmer's.  You  can  see  now  why, 
when  I  thought  that  tintype  was  his,  I  was  so  took  aback. 
You  see,  don't  you,  Mary-'Gusta?  Why!  Where  you 
goin'?" 

Mary  had  risen  from  her  chair,  taken  up  the  lamp, 
and  was  on  her  way  to  the  door. 

"I'm  going  to  my  room,"  she  said.  "Good  night, 
Isaiah." 

"What  are  you  goin'  now  for?  I  could  tell  you  a  lot 
more  partic'lars  if  you  wanted  to  hear  'em.  Now  I've 
told  so  much  I  might  as  well  tell  the  rest.  If  I'm  goin' 
to  be  hove  overboard  for  tellin'  I  might  as  well  make  a 
big  splash  as  a  little  one.  If  you  got  any  questions  to 
ask,  heave  ahead  and  ask  'em.  Fire  away,  /  don't  care," 
he  added,  recklessly. 

335 


MARY-'GUSTA 

But  Mary  shook  her  head.  She  did  not  even  turn  to 
look  at  him. 

"Perhaps  I  may  ask  them  some  other  time,"  she  said. 
"Not  now.  Thank  you  for  telling  me  so  much.  Good 
night." 

Alone  in  her  own  room  once  more  she  sat  down  to 
think.  It  was  plain  enough  now.  All  the  parts  of  the 
puzzle  fitted  together.  Edwin  Smith  having  been  proved 
to  be  Edgar  Farmer,  everything  was  explainable.  .It  had 
seemed  queer  to  her,  Mr.  Smith's  aversion  to  the  East, 
his  refusal  to  come  East  even  to  his  son's  graduation ;  but 
it  was  not  at  all  queer  that  Edgar  Farmer,  the  embezzler, 
should  feel  such  an  aversion,  or  refuse  to  visit  a  locality 
where,  even  after  all  these  years,  he  might  be  recognized. 
It  was  not  odd  that  he  disliked  to  be  photographed.  And 
it  certainly  was  not  strange  that  he  should  have  behaved 
as  he  did  when  his  son  announced  the  intention  of  marry 
ing  her,  Mary  Lathrop,  stepdaughter  of  one  of  his  former 
partners  and  victims  and  adopted  niece  and  ward  of 
the  other  two. 

What  a  terrible  surprise  and  shock  Crawford's  com 
munication  must  have 'been  to  him!  The  dead  past,  the 
past  he  no  doubt  had  believed  buried  forever,  had  risen 
from  the  tomb  to  confront  him.  His  only  son,  the  boy 
he  idolized,  who  believed  him  to  be  a  man  of  honor, 
whose  16Ve  and  respect  meant  more  than  the  world  to 
him — his  only  son  asking  to  marry  the  ward  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  wronged  beyond  mortal  forgiveness,  asking 
to  marry  her  and  intimating  that  he  would  marry  her 
whether  or  no.  And  the  secret  which  he  had  guarded 
so  jealously,  had  hidden  from  his  son  and  the  world  with 
such  infinite  pains,  suddenly  threatening  to  be  cried  aloud 
in  the  streets  for  all,  his  boy  included,  to  hear.  Mary 
shuddered  as  she  realized  what  the  man  must  have  felt. 

336 


MARY-'GUSTA 

It  must  have  seemed  to  him  like  the  direct  hand  of  aveng 
ing  Providence.  No  wonder  he  at  first  could  not  believe 
it  to  be  merely  accident,  coincidence;  no  wonder  that  he 
asked  if  Zoeth  Hamilton  had  sent  Crawford  to  him,  and 
had  demanded  to  know  what  Zoeth  Hamilton  had  told. 

It  was  dreadful,  it  was  pitiful.  She  found  herself  pity 
ing  Edwin  Smith — or  Edgar  Farmer — even  though  she 
knew  the  retribution  which  had  come  upon  him  was  de 
served. 

She  pitied  him — yes ;  but  now  she  could  spare  little  pity 
for  others,  she  needed  as  much  herself.  For  minute  by 
minute,  as  she  sat  there  thinking  out  this  great  problem 
just  as  the  little  Mary-'Gusta  used  to  think  out  her  small 
ones,  her  duty  became  clear  and  more  clear  to  her  mind. 
Edgar  Farmer's  secret  must  be  kept.  For  Crawford's 
sake  it  must  be.  He  need  not — he  must  not — learn  that 
the  father  he  had  honored  and  respected  all  his  life  was 
unworthy  of  that  honor  and  respect.  And  her  uncles — 
they  must  not  know.  The  old  skeleton  must  not  be  dug 
from  its  grave.  Her  Uncle  Zoeth  had  told  her  only  a 
little  while  before  that  he  was  learning  to  forget,  or  if  not 
to  forget  at  least  to  be  more  reconciled.  She  did  not 
understand  him  then;  now  she  did.  To  have  him  learn 

that  Edgar  Farmer  was  alive,  that  his  son Oh,  no,  he 

must  not  learn  it!  Ill  as  he  was,  and  weak  as  he  was 
likely  to  be  always,  the  shock  might  kill  him.  And  yet 
sooner  or  later  he  would  learn  unless  the  secret  remained, 
as  it  had  been  for  years,  undisclosed. 

And  to  keep  it  still  a  secret  was,  she  saw  clearly,  her 
duty.  She  might  rebel  against  it,  she  might  feel  that  it 
was  wicked  and  cruel,  the  spoiling  of  her  life  to  save  these 
others,  but  it  was  her  duty  nevertheless.  Because  she 
loved  Crawford — and  she  was  realizing  now  that  she 
did  love  him  dearly,  that  there  could  never  be  another 

337 


MARY-'GUSTA 

love  in  the  world  for  her — she  must  send  him  away,  she 
must  end  the  affair  at  once.  If  she  did  that  she  could 
save  him  from  learning  of  his  father's  disgrace,  could 
avert  the  otherwise  inevitable  quarrel  between  them, 
could  make  his  career  and  his  future  secure.  And  her 
uncles  would  be  happy,  the  skeleton  would  remain  un 
disturbed. 

Yes,  she  must  do  it.  But  it  was  so  hard  to  do.  Philos 
ophy  did  not  help  in  the  least.  She  had  tried  to  convince 
herself  when  she  gave  up  her  school  work  that  it  meant 
the  end  of  her  romance  also.  She  had  tried  to  tell  Craw 
ford  so.  But  she  had  been  weak,  she  had  permitted  her 
self  to  hope.  She  had  realized  that  for  the  present,  per 
haps  for  years,  she  must  work  for  and  with  the  old  men 
who  had  been  father  and  mother  both  to  her,  but — he 
had  said  so — Crawford  would  wait  for  her,  and  some  day 
— perhaps 

But  now  there  was  no  perhaps — now  she  knew.  She 
must  receive  no  more  letters  from  him.  She  must  never 
see  him  again.  The  break  must  be  absolute  and  final. 
And  there  was  but  one  way  to  bring  that  about.  He 
had  said  repeatedly  that  only  her  declaration  that  she  did 
not  love  him  would  ever  prevent  his  marrying  her.  Very 
well,  then  for  his  sake  she  must  lie  to  him;  she  must  tell 
him  that  very  thing.  She  must  write  him  that  she  had 
been  considering  the  matter  and  had  decided  she  could 
never  love  him  enough  to  become  his  wife. 

It  was  almost  two  o'clock  when  she  reached  this  deci 
sion  but  she  sat  down  at  her  desk  to  write  then  and  there 
the  letter  containing  it,  the  last  letter  she  would  ever 
write  him.  And  when  the  morning  light  came  streaming 
in  at  the  windows  she  still  sat  there,  the  letter  unwritten. 
She  had  made  many  beginnings,  but  not  an  end.  She 
must  try  again ;  she  was  too  tired,  too  nervous,  too  hope- 

338 


MARY-'GUSTA 

less  and  heartbroken  to  make  another  attempt  that  morn 
ing,  but  before  the  day  was  over  it  should  be  done.  She 
threw  herself  down  upon  the  bed  but  she  could  not  sleep. 
Why  had  she  been  selected  to  bear  this  burden?  What 
had  she  done  that  God  should  delight  to  torture  her  in 
this  way? 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THAT  difficult  letter  was  never  written.  In  the 
afternoon,  business  at  the  store  being  rather  quiet 
and  Mrs.  Atkins,  the  nurse,  desiring  an  hour's 
leave  to  do  an  errand  in  the  village,  Mary  had  taken  her 
place  in  the  sickroom.  Zoeth  was  improving  slowly,  so 
the  doctor  said,  but  he  took  very  little  interest  in  what 
went  on,  speaking  but  seldom,  asking  few  questions,  and 
seeming  to  be  but  partially  sensible  of  his  surroundings. 
Best  not  to  try  to  rouse  him,  the  physician  said.  Little  by 
little  he  would  gain  mentally  as  well  as  physically  and,  by 
and  by,  there  was  reason  to  hope,  would  be  up  and  about 
again.  Probably,  however,  he  would  never  be  so  strong 
as  he  had  been  before  his  sudden  seizure,  the  cause  of 
which — if  there  had  been  a  definite  cause — was  still  un 
known. 

Just  then  he  was  asleep  and  Mary,  sitting  in  the  rock 
ing-chair  by  the  bed,  was  thinking,  thinking,  thinking. 
If  she  could  only  stop  thinking  for  a  little  while !  Uncle 
Zoeth,  there  on  the  bed,  looked  so  calm  and  peaceful. 
If  only  she  might  have  rest  and  peace  again!  If  she 
might  be  allowed  to  forget! 

The  door  opened  gently  and  Mr.  Chase  appeared.  He 
beckoned  to  her  to  come  out.  With  a  glance  at  the  patient, 
she  tiptoed  from  the  room  into  the  hall. 

"What  is  it,  Isaiah  ?"  she  asked. 

Isaiah  seemed  to  be  excited  about  something. 

"I've  got  a  surprise  for  you,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  whis 
pered.  "There's  somebody  downstairs  to  see  you." 

340 


MARY-'GUSTA 

His  manner  was  so  important  and  mysterious  that 
Mary  was  puzzled. 

"Someone  to  see  me  ?"  she  repeated.    "Who  is  it  ?" 

Mr.  Chase  winked. 

"It's  somebody  you  wan't  expectin'  to  see,  I  bet  you !" 
he  declared.  "I  know  /  wan't.  When  I  opened  the  door 
and  see  him  standin'  there  I " 

"Saw  him?  Who?  Who  is  it,  Isaiah?  Stop  that 
ridiculous  winking  this  instant.  Who  is  it?" 

"It's  that  young  Crawford  Smith  feller  from  way  out 
West,  that's  who  'tis.  Ah,  ha!  I  told  you  you'd  be 
surprised." 

She  was  surprised,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  perfectly  still.  Had  it  not  been 
that  the  hall  was  almost  dark  in  the  shadows  of  the  late 
afternoon  Isaiah  would  have  noticed  how  pale  she  had 
become.  But  it  was  evident  that  he  did  not  notice  it,  for 
he  chuckled. 

"I  told  you  you'd  be  some  surprised,"  he  crowed. 
"Well,  ain't  you  comin'  on  down  to  see  him?  Seems  to 
me  if  I  had  a  beau — excuse  me,  a  gentleman  friend — 
who  come  a-cruisin'  all  the  way  from  t'other  side  of  crea 
tion  to  see  me  I  wouldn't  keep  him  waitin'  very  long. 
Ho!  ho!" 

Mary  did  not  answer  at  once.  When  she  did  she  was 
surprised  to  find  that  she  was  able  to  speak  so  calmly. 

"I  shall  be  down  in  a  moment,"  she  said.  "Isaiah,  will 
you  please  go  in  and  stay  with  Uncle  Zoeth  until  I 
come  ?" 

Isaiah  looked  chagrined  and  disappointed.  Visitors 
from  the  far  West  were  rare  and  especially  rare  was  a 
young  gentleman  who  Mr.  Chase,  with  what  Captain 
Shadrach  termed  his  "lovesick  imagination,"  surmised 
was  Mary-'Gusta's  beau.  He  wished  to  see  more  of  him. 

341 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Aw,  say,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  pleaded,  "I'm  awful  busy. 
I  don't  see  how  I  can  set  along  of  Zoeth Say,  Mary- 
'Gusta!" 

But  Mary  had  gone.  She  was  hurrying  along  the 
hall  toward  her  own  room.  So  Isaiah,  remembering 
that  the  doctor  had  said  Mr.  Hamilton  must  not  be  left 
alone,  grumblingly  obeyed  orders  and  went  in  to  sit 
beside  him. 

In  her  own  room  Mary  stood,  white  and  shaken, 
striving  to  regain  her  composure.  She  must  regain  it,  she 
must  be  cool  and  calm  in  order  to  go  through  the  ordeal 
she  knew  was  before  her.  His  coming  could  mean  but 
one  thing:  his  father  had  still  refused  consent  and  he 
had  come  to  tell  her  so  and  to  beg  her  to  wait  for  him 
in  spite  of  it.  If  only  he  had  written  saying  he  was  com 
ing,  if  she  had  been  forewarned,  then  she  might  have 
been  more  ready,  more  prepared.  Now  she  must  sum 
mon  all  her  resolution  and  be  firm  and  unwavering.  Her 
purpose  was  as  set  and  strong  as  ever,  but  ah,  it  would 
be  so  hard  to  tell  him!  To  write  the  letter  she  had 
meant  to  write  would  have  been  easy  compared  to  this. 
However,  it  must  be  done — and  done  now.  She  went 
down  the  stairs  and  entered  the  sitting-room. 

He  was  sitting  in  the  rocker  by  the  window  and  when 
she  came  into  the  room  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  came 
toward  her.  His  face,  or  so  it  seemed  to  her,  showed 
some  traces  of  the  trouble  and  anxiety  through  which 
he  had  passed  so  recently.  He  was  a  little  thinner  and 
he  looked  less  boyish.  He  held  out  his  hands. 

"Well,  Mary,"  he  cried,  eagerly,  "here  I  am.  Aren't 
you  glad  to  see  me?" 

He  seized  both  her  hands  in  his.  She  disengaged 
them  gently.  Her  manner  seemed  odd  to  him  and  he 
regarded  her  in  a  puzzled  way. 

342 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Aren't  you  glad?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  Mary,  what 
is  the  matter?" 

She  smiled  sadly  and  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  Crawford," 
she  said,  "why  did  you  come?  Or,  at  least,  why  didn't 
you  write  me  you  were  coming?" 

He  laughed.  "I  didn't  write,"  he  answered,  "because 
I  was  afraid  if  I  did  you  would  write  me  not  to  come." 

"I  certainly  should." 

"Of  course  you  would.  So  I  took  no  chances  but  just 
came  instead." 

"But  why  did  you  come?" 

"Why?    To  see  you,  of  course." 

"Oh,  Crawford,  please  don't  joke.  You  know  I  asked 
you  not  to  come  here.  When  we  last  spoke  together,  over 
the  telephone,  I  told  you  that  if  you  came  here  I  should 
not  see  you.  And  yet  you  came." 

His  manner  changed.    He  was  serious  enough  now. 

"I  came,"  he  said,  "because — well,  because  I  felt  that 
I  must.  I  had  many  things  to  tell  you,  Mary,  and  some 
thing  to  ask.  And  I  could  neither  tell  nor  ask  in  a 
letter.  Dad  and  I  have  quarreled — we've  parted  com 
pany." 

She  had  expected  to  hear  it,  but  it  shocked  and  grieved 
her,  nevertheless.  She  knew  how  he  had  loved  his  father, 

"Sit  down,  Crawford,"  she  said  gently.  "Sit  down 
and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

He  told  her.  There  was  little  more  to  tell  than  he  had 
written.  His  father  had  not  become  more  reconciled  to 
the  idea  of  his  marrying  Mary.  Instead  his  opposition 
was  just  as  violent  and,  to  his  son's  mind,  as  unreasonably 
absurd.  Day  after  day  Crawford  waited,  hoping  that 
time  would  bring  a  change  or  that  his  own  arguments 
might  have  an  effect,  but  neither  time  nor  argument  soft 
ened  Edwin  Smith's  obstinacy. 

343 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"He  behaved  like  a  madman  at  times,"  declared  Craw 
ford.  "And  at  others  he  would  almost  beg  me  on  his 
knees  to  give  you  up.  I  asked  him  why.  I  told  him  over 
and  over  again  that  he  should  be  proud  to  have  such  a 
girl  for  his  daughter-in-law.  I  said  everything  I  could. 
I  told  him  I  would  do  anything  for  him — anything  he 
asked — except  give  you  up.  That  I  would  not  do.  And 
it  was  the  only  thing  he  seemed  to  wish  me  to  do.  Talked 
about  bringing  shame  and  disgrace  on  his  head  and  mine 
— and  all  sorts  of  wild  nonsense.  When  I  asked  what  he 
meant  by  disgrace  he  could  not  tell  me.  Of  course  he 
couldn't." 

That  was  true,  of  course  he  could  not  tell.  Mary 
knew,  and  she  realized  once  more  the  tortures  which  the 
man  must  have  suffered,  must  be  suffering  at  that  mo 
ment. 

"So  at  last  we  parted,"  said  Crawford.  "I  left  word 
— left  a  letter  saying  that,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  it  was 
best  that  I  went  away.  We  could  not  agree  apparently, 
he  and  I,  upon  the  one  point  which,  as  I  saw  it,  was  the 
most  important  decision  of  my  life.  And  I  had  made  that 
decision.  I  told  him  how  much  I  hated  to  leave  him ;  that 
I  loved  him  as  much  as  I  ever  did.  'But/  I  said,  'I  shall 
not  give  up  my  happiness  and  my  future  merely  to  gratify 
your  unreasonable  whim/  Then  I  came  away  and  started 
East  to  you." 

He  paused,  evidently  expecting  Mary  to  make  some 
comment  or  ask  a  question,  but  she  was  silent.  After  a 
moment  he  went  on. 

"I  haven't  made  any  definite  plans  as  yet,"  he  said. 
"I  have  another  year  at  the  Medical  School — or  should 
have  it.  I  am  hoping  that  I  may  be  able  to  go  back  to 
the  Harvard  Med.  here  in  Boston  and  work  my  way 
through.  Other  chaps  have  done  it  and  I'm  sure  I  can. 

344 


MARY-'GUSTA 

And  after  that — well,  after  that  I  must  take  my  chance 
at  finding  a  location  and  a  practice,  like  any  other  young 
M.D.  But  first  of  all,  Mary,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  that 
you  will  wait  for  me.  It's  a  lot  to  ask ;  I  know  how  much. 
But  will  you,  Mary  dear?  That's  what  I've  come  here 
for — to  get  you  to  say  that  you  will.  After  that  I  can 
face  anything — yes,  and  win  out,  too." 

Mary  looked  at  him.  His  face  was  aglow  with  earnest 
ness  and  his  voice  shook  as  he  finished  speaking.  He 
rose  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"Will  you,  Mary?"  he  begged. 

She  looked  at  him  no  longer.  She  was  afraid  to  do 
so — afraid  of  her  own  weakness.  But  no  sign  of  that 
weakness  showed  itself  in  her  tone  as  she  answered. 

"I'm  sorry,  Crawford,"  she  said,  gently.  "I  wish  I 
could,  but  I  can't." 

"Can't!    Can't  wait  for  me?" 

"I  could  wait  for  you,  it  isn't  that.  If  it  were  merely 
a  question  of  waiting — if  that  were  all — how  easy  it 
would  be!  But  it  isn't.  Crawford,  you  must  go  back 
to  your  father.  You  must  go  back  to  him  and  forget 
all  about  me.  You  must." 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment.    Then  he  laughed. 

"Forget  you!"  he  repeated.    "Mary,  are  you ' 

"Oh,  please,  Crawford!  Don't  make  this  any  harder 
for  both  of  us  than  it  has  to  be.  You  must  go  back  to 
your  father  and  you  must  forget  me.  I  can  not  marry 
you,  I  can't." 

He  came  toward  her. 

"But,  Mary,"  he  cried,  "I— I Of  course  I  know 

you  can't — now.  I  know  how  you  feel  about  your  duty 
to  your  uncles.  I  know  they  need  you.  I  am  not  asking 
that  you  leave  them.  I  ask  only  that  you  say  you  will 

wait  until — until  by  and  by,  when " 

345 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Please,  Crawford!    No,  I  can't." 

"Mary!    You Oh,  but  you  must  say  it!     Don't 

tell  me  you  don't  love  me!" 

She  was  silent.  He  put  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders. 
She  could  feel  them  tremble. 

"Don't  you  love  me,  Mary  ?"  he  repeated.  "Look  up ! 
Look  at  me !  Don't  you  love  me  ?" 

She  did  not  look  up,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"No,  Crawford,"  she  said.  "I'm  afraid  not.  Not 
enough." 

She  heard  him  catch  his  breath,  and  she  longed — Oh, 
how  she  longed ! — to  throw  her  arms  about  him,  tell  him 
that  it  was  all  a  lie,  that  she  did  love  him.  But  she  forced 
herself  not  to  think  of  her  own  love,  only  of  those  whom 
she  loved  and  what  disgrace  and  shame  and  misery  would 
come  upon  them  if  she  yielded. 

"Not  enough?"  she  heard  him  repeat  slowly.  "You — 
you  don't  love  me  ?  Oh,  Mary !" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  sorry,  Crawford,"  she  said.  "I  can't  tell  you 
how  sorry.  Please — please  don't  think  hardly  of  me, 
not  too  hardly.  I  wish — I  wish  it  were  different." 

Neither  spoke  for  a  moment.    Then  he  said : 

*Tm  afraid  I  don't  understand.  Is  there  someone 
else?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!    There  isn't  anyone." 

"Then But  you  told  me You  have  let  me 

think " 

"Please !  I  told  you  I  was  not  sure  of  my  own  feelings. 
1 — I  am  sure  now.  I  am  so  sorry  you  came.  I  should 
have  written  you.  I  had  begun  the  letter." 

Again  silence.  Then  he  laughed,  a  short,  bitter  laugh 
with  anything  but  mirth  in  it. 

"I  am  a  fool,"  he  said.    "What  a  fool  I  have  been!" 

346 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Please,  Crawford,  don't  speak  so.  ...  Oh,  where  are 
you  going?" 

"I?  I  don't  know.  What  difference  does  it  make 
where  I  go?  Good-by." 

"Stop,  Crawford !  Wait !  It  makes  a  difference  to  your 
father  where  you  go.  It  makes  a  difference  to  me.  I — I 
value  your  friendship  very  highly.  I  hoped  I  might  keep 
that.  I  hoped  you  would  let  me  be  your  friend,  even 
though  the  other  could  not  be.  I  hoped  that." 

The  minute  before  she  had  asked  him  to  forget  her, 
but  she  did  not  remember  that,  nor  did  he.  He  was 
standing  by  the  door,  looking  out.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  there.  Then  he  turned  and  held  out  his  hand. 

''Forgive  me,  Mary,"  he  said.  "I  have  behaved  like 
a  cad,  I'm  afraid.  When  a  fellow  has  been  building 
air  castles  and  all  at  once  they  tumble  down  upon  his 
head  he — well,  he  is  likely  to  forget  other  things.  For 
give  me." 

She  took  his  hand.  She  could  keep  back  the  tears  no 
longer;  her  eyes  filled. 

"There  is  nothing  for  me  to  forgive,"  she  said.  "If 
you  will  forgive  me,  that  is  all  I  ask.  And — and  let  me 
still  be  your  friend." 

"Of  course.  Bless  you,  Mary!  I — I  can't  talk  any 
more  now.  You'll — "  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile — "you'll 
have  to  give  me  a  little  time  to  get  my  bearings,  as  your 
Uncle  Shad  would  say." 

"And — and  won't  you  go  back  to  your  father  ?  I  shall 
feel  so  much  happier  if  you  do." 

He  hesitated.     Then  he  nodded. 

"If  you  wish  it — yes,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  it  is  the 
thing  I  ought  to  do.  Dad  will  be  happy,  at  any  rate.  Oh, 
Mary,  cant  you?" 

"No,  Crawford,  no.    Yes,  your  father  will  be  happy. 

347 


MARY-'GUSTA 

And — and  by  and  by  you  will  be,  too,  I  know.  Are 
you  going  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  had  better.  I  don't  feel  like  meeting 
anyone  and  your  Uncle  Shad  will  be  here  soon,  I  suppose. 
Your  man  here — Isaiah — told  me  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  sick 
ness.  I'm  sorry." 

"Yes,  poor  Uncle  Zoeth!  He  is  gaining  a  little,  how 
ever.  Crawford,  I  won't  ask  you  to  stay.  Perhaps  it 
will  be  best  for  both  of  us  if  you  do  not.  But  won't 
you  write  me  just  once  more?  Just  to  tell  me  that  you 
and  your  father  are  reconciled?  I  should  like  to  know 
that.  And  do  forgive  me — Oh,  do!  I  had  to  say  it, 
Crawford!" 

"I  forgive  you,  Mary.  Of  course  you  had  to  say  it. 
.  .  .  But  .  .  .  Well,  never  mind.  Yes,  I'll  write,  of 
course.  I  hope  .  .  .  No,  I  can't  say  that,  not  now.  I'd 
better  go  at  once,  I  think,  before  I  ...  Good-by." 

He  seized  her  hand,  pressed  it  tightly,  took  his  hat  from 
the  table  and  his  bag  from  the  floor  and  swung  out  of 
the  door.  In  the  doorway  she  stood  looking  after  him. 
At  the  gate  he  turned,  waved  his  hand,  and  hurried  on. 
He  did  not  look  back  again. 

When  at  half-past  six  Captain  Shadrach,  having  left 
Annabel  and  the  boy  in  charge  of  the  store,  came  home 
for  supper,  Isaiah  had  some  news  to  tell  him.  It  was 
surprising  news. 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  the  Captain.  "Well,  well, 
I  want  to  know !  All  the  way  from  out  West,  eh  ?  Sho ! 
Where  is  he  now?" 

Isaiah  shook  his  head.  "That's  the  funny  part  of  it, 
he's  gone,"  he  said. 

"Gone?     Gone  where?" 

"/  don't  know.  All  I  know  is  he  come  and  said  he 

348 


MARY-'GUSTA 

wanted  to  see  Mary-'Gusta — I  went  up  and  told  her  and 
she  come  down  to  see  him.  I  stayed  up  along  of  Zoeth 
until  Debby  T.  came  back  from  her  shoppin'  cruise.  Then 
I  come  downstairs  again  and  his  hat  and  bag  was  gone. 
There  wan't  nobody  here." 

"Where  was  Mary-'Gusta?     Where  is  she  now?" 

"Up  in  her  room,  I  cal'late.  I  heard  her  movin'  round 
there  a  spell  ago." 

Shadrach  went  up  the  stairs,  along  the  hall,  and 
knocked  at  Mary's  door. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  a  faint  voice  within. 

"It's  your  Uncle  Shad,  Mary-'Gusta.    Can  I  come  in  ?" 

"Yes." 

He  entered.  There  was  no  lamp  and  the  room  was 
dark. 

"Where  are  you  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Here,  by  the  window,  Uncle  Shad." 

She  was  sitting  in  the  rocker  by  the  window.  He 
could  not  see  her  face,  but  as  he  bent  and  kissed  her 
cheek  he  found  it  wet. 

"Mercy  on  us !    You've  been  cryin' !"  he  declared. 

"Oh— Oh,  no,  I  haven't!    I " 

"Rubbish !  Yes,  you  have,  too.  Settin'  alone  up  here 
in  the  dark  and  cryin'!  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop,  come 
here!" 

She  had  risen  from  the  rocking-chair,  but  he  seized  her 
in  his  arms,  sat  down  in  the  chair  himself,  and  lifted  her 
to  his  knee  just  as  he  used  to  do  when  she  was  the  little 
Mary-'Gusta. 

"Now  there,  dearie,"  he  said.  "You'll  tell  your  Uncle 
Shad.  What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  Uncle  Shad,  dear.  I  was — I'm  feeling 
just  a  little  silly  this  afternoon,  I  guess.  You  mustn't 
ask  me." 

349 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"All  right,  I  won't  ask— I'll  tell.  That  young  feller 
from  out  West,  the  feller  with  the  uncommon  name — 
Brown — Jones — Oh,  no,  Smith,  that  was  it — he  came 
cruisin'  around  here  and " 

"Uncle  Shad,  how  did  you  know?" 

"A  little  bird  told  me.  A  long-legged  bird  without 
much  hair  on  top — a  bald-headed  eagle,  I  cal'late  he  must 
be.  Hops  round  our  kitchen  daytimes  and  roosts  in  the 
attic  nights." 

"Isaiah !    Of  course  he  would  tell." 

"Of  course  he  would — bein'  Isaiah.  Well,  this  Smith 
critter,  he  came  and — and — well,  I  guess  you'll  have  to 
tell  me  the  rest." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  He  came  and — and  then  he 
went  away  again." 

"Went  away — where?" 

"Out  to  Carson  City,  I  suppose." 

"Ain't  he  comin'  back  any  more  ?" 

"No." 

"Why?    Don't  you  want  him  to  come,  Mary-'Gusta?" 

"Oh,  Uncle  Shad,  please  don't.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could 
answer.  Don't  ask  me." 

"There,  there,  dearie ;  don't  you  answer  nothin'.  You 
set  still  here  and  be  my  baby.  I  ain't  had  a  chance  to 
baby  you  for  a  long  spell  and  it  seems  good." 

Silence.  Suddenly  the  Captain  felt  the  head  which 
nestled  against  his  shoulder  stir. 

"Uncle  Shadrach,"  said  Mary-'Gusta,  "what  do  you 
do  when  you  want  to  forget?" 

"Eh?  Want  to  forget?  Oh,  I  don't  know!  Cal'late 
I  turn  to  and  sail  in  and  work  a  little  harder,  maybe. 
Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  .  .  .  But  I  am  much  obliged  for  the 
suggestion.  Now  I  am  going  to  work.  I  shall  begin 

350 


MARY-'GUSTA 

tomorrow  morning.    I  wish  it  was  tomorrow  right  now." 
"Don't.    Jumpin'  fire!     Don't  wish  time  away;  some 
of  us  ain't  got  too  much  to  spare.     But  ain't  you  been 
workin',  for  mercy  sakes  ?    I  should  say  you  had." 
Another  interval  of  silence.     Then  Mary  said: 
"Uncle  Shad,  a  good  while  ago,  when  you  asked  me 
about — about  him,  I  promised  you  I  would  tell  when 
there  was  anything  to  tell.     I  am  going  to  keep  my 
promise.     He  came  today  and  asked  me — asked  me  to 
marry  him — not  now,  of  course,  but  by  and  by." 

Shadrach  was  not  greatly  surprised.  Nevertheless  it 
was  a  moment  before  he  spoke.  Mary  felt  his  arms 
tighten  about  her  and  she  realized  a  little  of  the  struggle 
he  was  making.  Yet  his  tone  was  brave  and  cheerful. 
"Yes,"  he  said.  "Well,  I— I  kind  of  cal'lated  that 
would  come  some  day  or  other.  It's  all  right,  Mary- 
'Gusta.  Zoeth  and  me  have  talked  it  over  and  all  we  want 
is  to  see  you  happy.  If  you  said  yes  to  him,  Zoeth  and 
I'll  say  'God  bless  you'  to  both  of  you." 

She  reached  for  his  hand  and  lifted  it  to  her  lips.  "I 
know  you  would,"  she  said.  "All  your  lives  you  have 
been  thinking  of  others  and  not  of  yourselves.  But  I 
didn't  say  yes,  Uncle  Shad.  I  am  not  going  to  be  mar 
ried  now  or  by  and  by.  I  don't  want  to  be.  I  am  the 
silent  partner  of  Hamilton  and  Company.  I  am  a  busi 
ness  woman  and  I  am  going  to  work — really  work — 
from  now  on.  No,  you  mustn't  ask  me  any  more  ques 
tions.  We'll  try  to  forget  it  all.  Kiss  me,  Uncle  Shad, 
dear.  That's  it.  Now  you  go  down  to  supper.  I  shall 
stay  here ;  I  am  not  hungry  tonight." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CAPTAIN  SHAD  did  ask  more  questions,  of  course. 
He  asked  no  more  that  evening — he  judged  it 
wisest  not  to  do  so ;  but  the  next  day,  seizing  an 
opportunity  when  he  and  his  niece  were  alone,  he  en 
deavored  to  learn  a  little  more  concerning  her  reasons  for 
dismissing  Crawford.  The  Captain  liked  young  Smith,  he 
had  believed  Mary  liked  him  very  much,  and,  although  he 
could  not  help  feeling  a  guilty  sense  of  relief  because  the 
danger  that  he  and  Zoeth  might  have  to  share  her  affec 
tions  with  someone  else  was,  for  the  time  at  least,  out  of 
the  way,  he  was  puzzled  and  troubled  by  the  abruptness  of 
the  dismissal.  There  was  something,  he  felt  sure,  which 
he  did  not  understand. 

"Of  course,  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said,  "I  ain't  askin'  any 
thing — that  is,  I  don't  mean  to  put  my  oar  in  about  what 
you  told  me  last  night,  but — well,  you  see,  Zoeth  and  me 
was  beginnin'  to  feel  that  'twas  pretty  nigh  a  settled  thing 
between  you  and  that  young  man." 

Mary  was  sitting  at  the  desk — she  and  her  uncle  were 
at  the  store  together — and  she  looked  up  from  the  ledger 
over  which  she  had  been  bending  and  shook  her  head  re 
proachfully.  She  looked  tired  and  worn,  so  it  seemed 
to  Captain  Shadrach,  as  if  she  had  not  slept  well  the 
night  before,  or  perhaps  for  several  nights. 

"Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "what  did  I  tell  you?" 

"Eh?  Why,  you  told  me You  know  what  you 

told  me,  Mary-'Gusta.  What  do  you  ask  that  for?" 

"Because  I  think  you  have  forgotten  the  most  impor- 

352 


MARY-'GUSTA 

tant  part  of  it.  I  told  you  we  were  going  to  forget  it  all. 
And  we  are.  We  are  not  going  to  speak  of  it  again." 

"But,  Mary-'Gusta,  why " 

"No,  Uncle  Shad." 

"But  do  just  tell  me  this  much;  if  you  don't  I  shan't 
rest  in  peace:  you  didn't  send  him  away  on  account  of 
Zoeth  and  me?  It  wan't  just  because  you  thought  we 
needed  you  ?" 

"No,  Uncle  Shad." 

"Then " 

"That's  all.  It's  over  with ;  it's  done  with  forever. 
If  you  really  care  about  me,  Uncle  Shad — and  some 
times,  you  know,  I  almost  suspect  that  you  really  do — you 
will  never,  never  say  another  word  about  it.  Now  come 
here  and  tell  me  about  this  account  of  Heman  Rod 
ger's.  Isn't  it  time  we  tried  to  get  a  payment  from 
him?" 

The  Captain,  although  still  uneasy  and  far  from  satis 
fied,  asked  no  more  questions  of  his  niece.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  in  that  way.  He  did, 
however,  question  Isaiah  to  learn  if  the  latter  had 
noticed  anything  unusual  in  Crawford's  manner  or  if 
Crawford  had  said  anything  concerning  his  reason  for 
coming  on  at  that  time,  but  Isaiah  had  noticed  nothing. 

"Umph !"  grunted  Shadrach,  rather  impatiently,  for 
the  mystery  in  the  affair  irritated  him.  "Of  course,  you 
didn't  notice.  You  wouldn't  notice  if  your  head  came 
off." 

Mr.  Chase  drew  himself  up.  "If  7  hove  out  such  a 
statement  as  that,"  he  observed,  scornfully,  "you'd  call 
me  a  fool.  'If  my  head  come  off!'  How  could  I  notice 
anything  if  my  head  was  off?  You  tell  me  that!" 

His  employer  grinned.  "I  cal'late  you  could  do  it 
about  as  well  as  you  can  with  it  on,  Isaiah,"  he  said,  and 

353 


MARY-'GUSTA 

walked  away,  leaving  the  cook  and  steward  incoherently 
anxious  to  retort  but  lacking  ammunition. 

So  Shadrach  was  obliged  to  give  up  the  riddle.  Lov 
ers'  quarrels  were  by  no  means  unusual,  he  knew  that, 
and  many  young  love  affairs  came  to  nothing.  Mary  had 
never  told  him  that  she  cared  for  Crawford.  But  she  had 
never  said  she  did  not  care  for  him.  And  now  she  would 
say  nothing  except  that  it  was  "done  with  forever."  The 
Captain  shook  his  head  and  longed  for  Zoeth's  counsel 
and  advice.  But  Zoeth  would  not  be  able  to  counsel  or 
advise  for  months. 

And  now  Mary  seemed  bent  upon  proving  the  truth 
of  her  statement  that  she  was  henceforth  to  be  solely 
a  business  woman.  The  summer  being  over — and  it 
had  been,  everything  considered,  a  successful  one  for 
Hamilton  and  Company — it  became  time  to  buy  fall  and 
winter  goods,  also  goods  for  the  holidays.  Mary  went  to 
Boston  on  a  buying  expedition.  When  she  returned 
and  informed  her  uncle  what  and  how  much  she  had 
bought,  he  looked  almost  as  if  he  had  been  listening  to 
the  reading  of  his  death  warrant. 

"Jumpin'  Judas !"  he  exclaimed.  "You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  you  bought  all  them  things  and — and  got  trusted 
for  'em?" 

"Of  course  I  did,  Uncle  Shad.  It  is  the  only  way  I 
could  buy  them;  and,  so  far  as  that  goes,  everyone  was 
glad  to  sell  me.  You  see,  our  paying  our  bills  up  there 
in  a  shorter  time  than  I  asked  for  has  made  a  very  good 
impression.  I  could  have  bought  ever  and  ever  so  much 
more  if  I  had  thought  it  best." 

"Jumpin'  fire !  Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  think  it  best. 
What  in  the  nation  we're  goin'  to  do  with  all  we  have  got 
7  don't  see." 

"Do  with  it?    Why,  sell  it,  of  course." 

354 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Um — yes,  I  cal'lated  that  was  the  idea,  probably ;  but 
who's  goin'  to  buy  it?" 

"Oh,  lots  of  people.  You'll  see.  I  am  going  to  adver 
tise  this  fall,  advertise  in  the  papers.  Oh,  we'll  make 
Baker's  Bazaar  and  the  rest  worry  a  little  before  we're 
through." 

The  Captain  was  inclined  to  fear  that  the  most  of  the 
worrying  would  be  done  by  Hamilton  and  Company,  but 
he  expressed  no  more  misgivings.  Besides,  if  anyone 
could  sell  all  those  goods,  that  one  was  his  Mary-'Gusta, 
he  was  perfectly  sure  of  that.  He  believed  her  quite 
capable  of  performing  almost  any  miracle.  Had  she  not 
pulled  the  firm  off  the  rocks  where  he  and  his  partner 
had  almost  wrecked  it?  Wasn't  she  the  most  wonderful 
young  woman  on  earth?  Old  as  he  was,  Captain  Shad 
would  probably  have  attempted  to  thrash  any  person  who 
expressed  a  doubt  of  that. 

And  the  goods  were  sold,  all  of  them  and  more.  The 
advertisements,  temptingly  worded,  appeared  in  the 
county  weeklies,  and  circulars  were  sent  through  the 
mails.  Partly  by  enterprise  and  partly  through  influence 
— Mr.  Keith  helped  here — Mary  attained  for  Hamilton 
and  Company  the  contract  for  supplying  the  furniture  and 
draperies  for  the  new  hotel  which  a  New  York  syndicate 
was  building  at  Orham  Neck.  It  was  purely  a  commis 
sion  deal,  of  course — everything  was  purchased  in  Boston 
— and  Hamilton  and  Company's  profit  was  a  percentage, 
but  even  a  small  percentage  on  so  large  a  sale  made 
a  respectable  figure  on  a  check  and  helped  to  pay  more 
of  the  firm's  debts.  And  those  debts,  the  old  ones,  were 
now  reduced  to  an  almost  negligible  quantity. 

The  secondhand  horse  and  wagon  still  continued  to  go 
upon  their  rounds,  but  the  boy  had  been  replaced  by  an 
active  young  fellow  whose  name  was  Crocker  and  who 

355 


MARY-'GUSTA 

was  capable  of  taking  orders  as  well  as  delivering  them. 
When  Captain  Shadrach  was  told — not  consulted  concern 
ing  but  told — the  wages  this  young  man  was  to  receive, 
he  was,  as  he  confided  to  Isaiah  afterward,  "dismasted, 
stove  in,  down  by  the  head  and  sinkin'  fast." 

"Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop !"  he  cried,  in  amazement.  "Are 
you  goin'  stark  loony  ?  Payin'  that  Simmie  Crocker  four 
teen  dollars  a  week  for  drivin'  team  and  swappin'  our 
good  sugar  and  flour  for  sewin'-circle  lies  over  folks' 
back  fences!  I  never  heard  such  a  thing  in  my  life. 
Why,  Baker's  Bazaar  don't  pay  the  man  on  their  team 
but  ten  a  week.  I  know  that  'cause  he  told  me  so  him 
self.  And  Baker's  Bazaar's  got  more  trade  than  we 
have." 

"Yes.  And  that  is  exactly  why  we  need  a  better  man 
than  they  have,  so  that  we  can  get  more  trade.  Simeon 
Crocker  is  an  ambitious  young  chap.  He  isn't  going  to 
be  contented  with  fourteen  long." 

"Oh,  he  ain't,  eh  ?  Well,  /  ain't  contented  with  it  now, 
I  tell  you  that.  Fourteen  dollars  a  week  for  drivin'  cart ! 
Jumpin'  fire!  Why,  the  cart  itself  ain't  worth  more'n 
fifteen  and  for  twenty-five  I'd  heave  in  the  horse  for  good 
measure.  But  I'd  never  get  the  chance,"  he  added,  "un 
less  I  could  make  the  trade  in  the  dark." 

Mary  laughed  and  patted  his  shoulder. 

"Never  mind,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  confidently, 
"Sim  Crocker  at  fourteen  a  week  is  a  good  investment. 
He  will  get  us  a  lot  of  new  business  now,  and  next  sum 
mer — well,  I  have  some  plans  of  my  own  for  next  sum 
mer." 

The  Christmas  business  was  very  good  indeed.  Shad 
rach,  Mary,  Annabel,  and  Simeon  were  kept  busy.  Cus 
tomers  came,  not  only  from  South  Harniss,  but  from 
West  and  East  Harniss  and  even  from  Orham  and  Bay- 

356 


MARY-'GUSTA 

port.  The  newspaper  advertisements  were  responsible  for 
this  in  the  beginning,  but  those  who  first  came  told  others 
that  the  best  stock  of  Christmas  goods  in  Ostable  County 
was  to  be  found  at  the  store  of  Hamilton  and  Company, 
in  South  Harniss,  and  so  the  indirect,  word-of-mouth  ad 
vertising,  which  is  the  best  and  most  convincing  kind, 
spread  and  brought  results. 

Christmas  itself  was  a  rather  dreary  day.  Zoeth,  al 
though  improving,  was  not  yet  strong  enough  to  leave 
his  room,  and  so  the  Christmas  dinner  lacked  his  presence 
at  the  table.  Mary  and  Shadrach  sat  with  him  for  an 
hour  or  so,  but  the  doctor  and  nurse  had  cautioned  them 
against  exciting  him,  so,  although  the  Captain  joked  con 
tinually,  his  jokes  were  rather  fickle  and  in  his  mind  was 
his  partner's  prophecy  of  two  years  before — that  the 
tide  which  had,  up  to  that  time,  been  coming  in  for  them, 
would  soon  begin  to  go  out.  Shadrach  could  not  help 
feeling  that  it  had  been  going  out,  for  poor  Zoeth  at  any 
rate.  The  doctor  declared  it  was  coming  in  again,  but 
how  slowly  it  came !  And  how  far  would  it  come  ?  This 
was  the  first  Christmas  dinner  he  had  eaten  in  years  with 
out  seeing  Mr.  Hamilton's  kindly,  patient  face  at  the 
other  side  of  the  table. 

And  Mary,  although  she  tried  to  appear  gay  and  light- 
hearted,  laughing  at  her  uncle's  jokes  and  attempting  a 
few  of  her  own,  was  far  from  happy.  Work,  Captain 
Shad's  recipe  for  producing  forgetfulness,  had  helped, 
but  it  had  not  cured.  And  when,  as  on  a  holiday  like 
this,  or  at  night  after  she  had  gone  to  bed,  there  was  no 
work  to  occupy  her  mind,  she  remembered  only  too  well. 
Crawford  had  written  her,  as  he  promised,  after  his  re 
turn  home.  He  wrote  that  he  and  his  father  were  recon 
ciled  and  that  he  had  resumed  his  studies.  The  letter  was 
brave  and  cheerful,  there  was  not  a  hint  of  whining  or 

357 


MARY-'GUSTA 

complaint  in  it.  Mary  was  proud  of  him,  proud  of  his 
courage  and  self-restraint.  She  could  read  between  the 
lines  and  the  loneliness  and  hopelessness  were  there, 
but  he  had  done  his  best  to  conceal  them  for  her  sake. 
If  he  felt  resentment  toward  her,  he  did  not  show  it. 
Lonely  and  hopeless  as  she  .herself  was,  her  heart  went 
out  to  him,  but  she  did  not  repent  her  decision.  It  was 
better,  ever  and  ever  so  much  better,  as  it  was.  He 
would  forget  and  be  happy  by  and  by,  and  would  never 
know  his  father's  shameful  story.  And  poor  Uncle 
Zoeth  would  never  know,  either.  As  for  her — well,  she 
must  work,  work  harder  than  ever.  Thank  God  there 
were  six  working  days  in  the  week! 

She  did  not  answer  that  letter.  After  much  deliberation 
she  fought  down  the  temptation  and  decided  not  to  do  so. 
What  was  the  use?  If  one  wished  to  forget,  or  wished 
someone  else  to  forget,  if  it  was  a  real  wish  and  not 
merely  pretending,  the  way  to  bring  about  that  result  was 
to  do  nothing  to  cause  remembrance.  Letters,  even  the 
letters  of  friends,  the  most  platonic  letters,  were  remind 
ers.  She  had  begged  for  Crawford's  friendship — she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  let  him  go  without  hearing  that 
he  forgave  her  and  would  think  of  her  as  a  friend — but 
now  she  vowed  she  would  not  be  so  silly  and  childish  as 
to  torture  him  or  herself  unnecessarily.  She  would  not 
do  it.  And  so  she  did  not  write. 

After  Christmas  came  the  long,  dull  winter.  It  was 
the  most  discouraging  season  the  silent  partner  of  Ham 
ilton  and  Company  had  yet  put  in  in  her  capacity  as 
manager.  There  were  no  cottagers  to  help  out  with  their 
custom,  very  few  new  customers,  no  fresh  faces  in  the 
store,  the  same  dreary,  deadly  round  from  morning  till 
night.  She  tried  her  hardest  and,  with  the  able  assistance 

358 


MARY-'GUSTA 

of  Sim  Crocker  who  was  proving  himself  a  treasure,  did 
succeed  in  making  February's  sales  larger  than  January's 
and  those  of  March  larger  than  either.  But  she  looked 
forward  to  April  and  the  real  spring  with  impatience. 
She  had  a  plan  for  the  spring. 

It  was  in  March  that  she  experienced  a  great  satisfac 
tion  and  gave  Shadrach  the  surprise  and  delight  of  his 
life  by  collecting  the  firm's  bill  against  Mr.  Jeremiah  Clif 
ford.  Mr.  Clifford,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  owed 
Hamilton  and  Company  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars  for 
a  long  time.  There  was  every  indication  that  he  was 
perfectly  satisfied  with  the  arrangement  and  intended  to 
owe  it  forever.  Mary  had  written,  had  called  upon  him 
repeatedly,  had  even  journeyed  to  Ostable  and  consulted 
her  friend  Judge  Baxter.  The  Judge  had  promised  to 
look  into  the  matter  and  he  did  so,  but  his  letter  to  her 
contained  little  that  was  hopeful. 

There  is  money  there  [wrote  the  Judge].  The  man  Clif 
ford  appears  to  be  in  very  comfortable  circumstances,  but  he 
is  a  shrewd  [there  were  indications  here  that  the  word 
"rascal"  had  been  written  and  then  erased]  person  and,  so 
far  as  I  can  learn,  there  is  not  a  single  item  of  property, 
real  or  otherwise,  that  is  in  his  own  name.  If  there  were, 
we  might  attach  that  property  for  your  debt,  but  we  cannot 
attach  Mrs.  Clifford's  holdings.  All  I  can  advise  is  to  dis 
continue  selling  him  more  goods  and  to  worry  him  all  you 
can  about  the  old  bill.  He  may  grow  tired  of  being  dunned 
and  pay,  if  not  all,  at  least  something  on  account. 

When  Mary  read  this  portion  of  the  letter  to  her  Uncle 
Shadrach  his  scorn  was  outspoken. 

"Get  tired!"  he  scoffed.  "Jerry  Clifford  get  tired  of 
bein'  dunned !  Don't  talk  so  foolish !  Why,  he  gets  fat 
on  that  kind  of  thing;  it's  the  main  excitement  he  has, 

359 


MARY-'GUSTA 

that  and  spendin'  a  cent  twice  a  day  for  newspapers.  Did 
you  ever  watch  Jerry  buy  a  paper?  No?  Well,  you  go 
up  to  Ellis's  some  day  when  the  mornin'  papers  are  put 
out  for  sale  and  watch  him.  He'll  drive  up  to  the  door 
with  that  old  hoopskirt  of  a  horse  of  his — that's  what 
the  critter  looks  like,  one  of  them  old-fashioned  hoop- 
skirts;  there  was  nothin'  to  them  but  framework  and  a 
hollow  inside,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  that  horse. — Well, 
Jerry  he'll  drive  up  and  come  in  to  the  paper  counter, 
his  eyes  shinin'  and  his  nerves  all  keyed  up  and  one  hand 
shoved  down  into  his  britches  pocket.  He'll  stand  and 
look  over  the  papers  on  the  counter,  readin'  as  much  of 
every  one  as  he  can  for  nothin',  and  then  by  and  by  that 
hand'll  come  out  of  his  pocket  with  a  cent  in  it.  Then 
the  other  hand'll  reach  over  and  get  hold  of  the  paper 
he's  cal'latin'  to  buy,  get  a  good  clove  hitch  onto  it,  and 
then  for  a  minute  he'll  stand  there  lookin'  first  at  the  cent 
and  then  at  the  paper  and  rubbin'  the  money  between  his 
finger  and  thumb — he's  figgerin'  to  have  a  little  of  the 
copper  smell  left  on  his  hand  even  if  he  has  to  let  go  of 
the  coin,  you  see — and " 

Mary  laughed. 

"Uncle  Shad,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  ridiculous  non 
sense  you  do  talk !" 

"No  nonsense  about  it.  It's  dead  serious.  It  ain't  any 
joke  to  Jerry,  you  can  bet  on  that.  Well,  after  a  spell,  he 
kind  of  gets  his  spunk  up  to  make  the  plunge,  as  you 
might  say,  lays  down  the  penny — Oh,  he  never  throws  it 
down;  he  wouldn't  treat  real  money  as  disrespectful  as 
that — grabs  up  the  paper  and  makes  a  break  for  outdoors, 
never  once  lookin'  back  for  fear  he  might  change  his 
mind.  When  he  drives  off  in  his  buggy  you  can  see  that 
he's  all  het  up  and  trembly,  like  one  of  them  reckless 
Wall  Street  speculators  you  read  about.  He's  spent  a 

360 


MARY-'GUSTA 

cent,  but  he's  had  a  lovely  nerve-wrackin'  time  doin'  it. 
Oh,  a  feller  has  to  satisfy  his  cravin'  for  excitement  some 
how,  and  Jerry  satisfies  his  buyin'  one-cent  newspapers 
and  seein'  his  creditors  get  mad.  Do  you  suppose  you 
can  worry  such  a  critter  as  that  by  talkin'  to  him  about 
what  he  owes?  Might  as  well  try  to  worry  a  codfish  by 
leanin'  over  the  rail  of  the  boat  and  hollerin'  to  it  that  it's 
drownin'." 

Mary  laughed  again.  "I'm  afraid  you  may  be  right, 
Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "but  I  shan't  give  up  hope.  My 
chance  may  come  some  day,  if  I  wait  and  watch  for 
it." 

It  came  unexpectedly  and  in  a  rather  odd  manner.  One 
raw,  windy  March  afternoon  she  was  very  much  surprised 
to  see  Sam  Keith  walk  into  the  store.  Sam,  since  his 
graduation  from  college,  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  "moan 
ing  on  the  bar"  in  Boston — that  is  to  say,  he  was  attending 
the  Harvard  Law  School  with  the  hope,  on  his  parents' 
part,  that  he  might  ultimately  become  a  lawyer. 

"Why,  Sam!"  exclaimed  Mary.     "Is  this  you?" 

Sam  grinned  cheerfully.  "  Tis  I,"  he  declared.  "I 
am  here.  That  is  to  say,  the  handsome  youth  whose  foot 
falls  you  hear  approaching  upon  horseback  is  none  other 
than  our  hero.  Mary,  you  are,  as  usual,  a  sight  to  be 
thankful  for.  How  do  you  do  ?" 

Mary  admitted  that  she  was  in  good  health  and  then 
demanded  to  know  what  he  was  doing  down  on  the  Cape 
at  that  time  of  the  year.  He  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the 
stove  and  propped  his  feet  against  the  hearth  before  re 
plying. 

"Why!  Haven't  you  guessed?"  he  asked,  in  mock 
amazement.  "Dear  me!  I'm  surprised.  I  should  have 
thought  the  weather  would  have  suggested  my  errand. 
Hear  that  zephyr;  doesn't  it  suggest  bathing  suits  and 

361 


MARY-'GUSTA 

outing  flannels  and  mosquitoes  and  hammock  flirtations? 
Eh?" 

The  zephyr  was  a  sixty-mile-an-hour  March  gale.  Sam 
replied  to  his  own  question. 

"Answer,"  he  said,  "it  does  not.  Right,  my  child;  go 
up  head.  But,  honest  Injun,  I  am  down  here  on  summer 
business.  That  Mr.  Raymond,  Dad's  friend,  who  was 
visiting  us  this  summer  is  crazy  about  the  Cape.  He  has 
decided  to  build  a  summer  home  here  at  South  Harniss, 
and  the  first  requisite  being  land  to  build  it  on  he  has 
asked  Dad  to  buy  the  strip  between  our  own  property 
and  the  North  Inlet,  always  provided  it  can  be  bought. 
Dad  asked  me  to  come  down  here  and  see  about  it,  so 
here  I  am." 

Mary  considered.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  after  a  moment, 
"I  know  the  land  you  mean.  Who  owns  it  ?" 

"That's  what  I  didn't  know,"  said  Sam.  "But  I  do 
know  now.  I  asked  the  first  person  I  met  after  I  got  off 
the  train  and  oddly  enough  he  turned  out  to  be  the  owner 
himself.  It  was  old  Clifford — Isaiah,  Elisha,  Hosea — 
Jeremiah,  that's  it.  I  knew  it  was  one  of  the  prophets." 

"So  Mr.  Clifford  owns  that  land.    I  didn't  know  that." 

"Neither  did  I.  He  didn't  tell  me  at  first  that  he  did 
own  it.  Asked  me  what  I  wanted  to  know  for." 

"Did  you  tell  him?"  asked  Mary. 

For  the  first  time  since  Mr.  Keith's  arrival  that  young 
gentleman's  easy  assurance  seemed  a  little  shaken.  He 
appeared  to  feel  rather  foolish. 

"Why,  yes,  to  be  honest,  I  did,"  he  admitted.  "I  was 
an  idiot,  I  suppose,  but  everyone  asks  about  everyone's 
else  business  down  here  and  I  didn't  think.  He  kept 
talking  and  pumping  and  before  I  realized  it  I  told  him 
about  Raymond's  being  so  anxious  to  get  that  property, 
being  dead  set  on  it  and  all  that,  and  about  my  being 

362 


MARY-'GUSTA 

commissioned  to  buy  at  any  reasonable  figure.  And 
then,  after  a  while,  he  astonished  me  by  saying  he  owned 
the  land  himself.  Confound  it !  I  suppose  he'll  jam  the 
price  away  up  after  what  I  told  him." 

"Oh,  then  you  haven't  bought?" 

"Not  yet.  I  was  willing,  but  for  some  reason  he 
wouldn't  sell  at  once — wouldn't  even  talk  price.  Wanted 
to  think  it  over,  he  said.  I  can't  wait  now,  but  I  am 
coming  down  again  on  Monday  and  we  shall  close  the 
deal  then." 

That  evening  Mary  told  Shadrach  what  Sam  had 
said.  The  Captain  looked  puzzled. 

"I  didn't  know  Jerry  Clifford  owned  that  land,"  he 
said.  "I  don't  believe  he  does." 

"Of  course  he  does,  Uncle  Shad.  He  wouldn't  have 
told  Sam  he  did  own  it  if  he  didn't.  What  in  the  world 
would  he  gain  by  that?" 

"Why,  nothin',  I  presume  likely.  But  he  must  have 
bought  it  mighty  recent.  Last  I  heard  Jimmie  G.  owned 
that  piece.  'Twas  part  of  the  property  his  father  left 
him.  Next  time  I  see  Jimmie  I'll  ask  him." 

So,  three  days  later,  when  Jimmie  G. — his  last  name 
was  Peters — passed  the  store  the  Captain  hailed  him 
and,  inviting  him  in,  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"When  did  you  sell  Jerry  Clifford  that  North  Inlet 
land  of  yours,  Jim?"  he  asked. 

Jimmie  G.  looked  surprised.  "How  in  time  did  you 
know  I  had  sold  it?"  he  demanded.  "It  beats  all  how 
things  get  around  in  this  town.  I  never  sold  that  land 
until  day  afore  yesterday  evenin'  and  the  deed  didn't 
pass  till  yesterday,  and  yet  you  know  the  whole  business. 
Not  that  I  care ;  'twas  Jerry  wanted  it  kept  still.  Who 
told  you?" 

Captain  Shad  whistled.  "I  see,"  he  said  slowly.  "I 
363 


MARY-'GUSTA 

see.  Yes,  yes.  When  Jerry  told  Sam  he  owned  that 
land  he  ...  Humph!  It's  just  another  case  of  the  boy 
lied,  that's  all.  Tut,  tut,  tut!  When  you  get  ahead 
of  Jerry  Clifford  you've  got  to  turn  out  early, 
ain't  you?  I  hope  you  got  a  good  price  for  the  land, 
Jim." 

"Well,  I  didn't ;  that  is,  not  very  big.  What's  up,  any 
way?  What  are  you  hintin'  at,  Cap'n  Shad?" 

Before  the  Captain  could  answer,  Mary,  who  had  been 
listening  to  the  conversation,  broke  in  to  ask  a  ques 
tion. 

"Mr.  Peters,"  she  cried  eagerly,  "would  you  mind 
telling  me  this:  Whose  name  is  the  new  deed  in,  Mr. 
Clifford's  or  his  wife's?" 

Jimmie  G.  laughed.  "Why,  that  was  kind  of  funny, 
too,"  he  said.  "You  know  Jerry,  Cap'n  Shad ;  he  never 
has  nothin'  in  his  own  name — it's  all  in  his  wife's.  That's 
a  principle  of  his." 

"I'd  call  it  a  lack  of  principle,"  grunted  Shadrach. 
"Never  mind,  Jim;  go  on." 

"But  he  was  in  a  terrible  rush  to  close  the  sale,  for 
some  reason  or  other,"  went  on  Peters,  "and  I  forgot, 
myself,  and  had  the  deed  made  in  the  name  of  Jeremiah 
Clifford.  He  made  a  big  row  at  first,  but  it  seemed  as 
if  he  couldn't  wait  for  me  to  have  it  changed,  so  he 
handed  over  his  check  and " 

"Wait!  Wait,  please,  Mr.  Peters!"  broke  in  Mary, 
her  eyes  flashing  with  excitement.  "Just  tell  me  if  I 
understand  you  correctly.  You  sold  that  land  to  Mr. 
Clifford  and  he  owns  it  now  in  his  own  name?" 

"Why,  yes— sartin." 

Mary  waited  to  hear  no  more.  She  ran  out  of  the 
store  and  to  the  post-office.  A  few  minutes  later  she 
was  talking  with  Judge  Baxter  over  the  telephone. 

364 


MARY-'GUSTA 

When  she  returned  the  Captain  was  curious  to  know 
where  she  had  been,  but  she  would  not  tell  him. 

"Wait,"  she  said.  "Wait,  Uncle  Shad ;  I  think  some 
thing  is  going  to  happen." 

It  happened  on  Monday  morning.  Mary  was  at  the 
desk;  Simeon  was  in  the  back  room  getting  ready  his 
early  morning  orders,  and  Captain  Shad  was  standing 
by  the  window  looking  out.  Suddenly  Mary  heard  him 
utter  an  exclamation. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  nothin'." 

"You  spoke  as  if  you  were  in  pain." 

"No  wonder.  I'm  lookin'  at  somethin'  that  gives  me 
a  pain.  That  wizened-up  landshark  of  a  Jerry  Clifford 
is  in  sight,  bound  to  the  post-office,  I  cal'late.  Coin'  to 
put  a  one-cent  stamp  on  a  letter  and  let  the  feller  that 
gets  it  pay  the  other  cent,  I  suppose.  He  always  asks 
the  postmaster  to  lick  the  stamp,  so's  to  save  the  wear 
and  tear  on  his  own  tongue.  That's  a  fact.  .  .  .  Nq," 
he  added,  a  moment  later,  "he  ain't  goin'  to  the  office; 
he's  turnin'  down  the  lane  here.  ...  Eh!  Jumpin'  fire 
of  brimstone,  I  do  believe What  in  the  world?" 

For  Mr.  Clifford's  step  was  upon  the  platform  of  the 
store  and  in  another  moment  the  door  opened  and  the 
tight-fisted  one  himself  appeared.  Shadrach  said  noth 
ing;  he  could  only  stare  in  amazement.  It  had  been 
more  than  two  years  since  Jeremiah  had  crossed  that 
threshold. 

But  he  crossed  it  now.  And,  after  a  look  about  the 
place,  ignoring  the  Captain  completely,  he  walked  over 
to  the  desk.  He  did  not  look  happy.  Mary,  on  the 
contrary,  looked  very  much  pleased. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Clifford,"  she  said. 

Jeremiah,  who  was  a  little  thin  man,  looked  up  at  her 
365 


MARY-'GUSTA 

from  under  his  heavy  gray  eyebrows  and  above  his  spec 
tacles.    He  did  not  acknowledge  the  salutation. 

"Umph!"  he  grunted  savagely.  "You  think  you're 
smart,  don't  ye?" 

Shadrach  started  forward. 

"Why,  you "  he  began.     Mary  held  up  her  hand. 

"Don't  interfere,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  ordered.  "This 
is  Mr.  Clifford's  affair  and  mine.  We  understand  each 
other  perfectly."  Then,  turning  to  the  frowning  Jere 
miah,  she  said:  "Why,  yes,  thank  you,  Mr.  Clifford,  I 
do  think  I  am  rather  clever — just  now.  Don't  you 
think  I  am,  yourself?" 

Again  the  visitor  ignored  the  question. 

"What  did  you  go  and  stick  an  attachment  on  that 
land  of  mine  for?"  he  demanded. 

"Surely  you  don't  need  to  ask  me  that,  Mr.  Clifford. 
The  amount  is  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars  and  sixty- 
three  cents.  I  remember  it  and  I  should  imagine  you 
must ;  certainly  it  has  been  called  to  your  attention  often 
enough." 

"Umph !  Well,  you  can  keep  your  darned  old  attach 
ment." 

"Very  well;  and  you  can  keep  your  land — what  is 
left,  I  mean.  I  think  you  will  keep  it  for  some  time — 
after  I  tell  Mr.  Keith  the  facts.  He  will  be  here  this 
afternoon,  you  know." 

It  was  evident  that  Jeremiah  was  quite  aware  of  the 
time  of  Sam  Keith's  arrival.  His  teeth — the  few  re 
maining — snapped  together  and,  as  Captain  Shadrach 
said  afterwards,  he  looked  as  if  undecided  whether  to 
bite  or  put  back  his  head  and  howl.  Apparently  he  de 
cided  that  howling  was  safer. 

"I  was  cal'latin'  to  pay  that  bill  of  yours,  anyhow," 
he  said. 

366 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Of  course,  and  we  were  calculating  that  you  would," 
said  Mary  sweetly.  "Your  calculations  and  ours  are 
proving  true,  Mr.  Clifford.  That's  nice,  isn't  it?" 

From  the  direction  of  the  back  room,  where  Simeon 
was  busy  with  his  orders,  came  the  sound  of  a  smoth 
ered  laugh.  Shadrach,  upon  whom  understanding  of 
the  situation  was  just  beginning  to  dawn,  slapped  his 
knee.  Mr.  Clifford  looked  positively  venomous. 

"If  I  pay  that  bill — that — what  was  it  ? — that  hundred 
and  ten  dollars  you  say  I  owe  you — do  I  get  that  attach 
ment  off  my  land  right  away?"  he  demanded. 

"If  you  pay  the  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars — and 
the  sixty-three  cents — I  shall  phone  Judge  Baxter  the 
next  minute,"  said  Mary  promptly. 

Jeremiah  hesitated  no  longer.  He  had  considered  the 
situation  in  all  its  phases  before  leaving  home  and  the 
one  hundred  and  ten  dollars  was  but  a  small  item  com 
pared  to  his  expected  profit  on  the  sale  of  the  North 
Inlet  land.  He  reached  into  his  pocket,  produced  a  long, 
dingy  leather  pocketbook  wound  about  with  twine,  un 
wound  the  twine,  opened  the  pocketbook  and  produced 
a  blank  check. 

"Give  me  a  pen  and  ink,"  he  snarled,  "and  I'll  fill 
this  in." 

The  Captain  reached  for  the  pen  and  ink  bottle,  but 
Mary  interfered. 

"Cash,  if  you  please,"  she  said  sweetly. 

Jeremiah  looked  at  her  steadily  for  what  seemed  a 
long  time.  Then  she  was  surprised  to  see  the  corner  of 
his  lip  twitch  and  notice  a  grim  twinkle  in  his  eye.  Also 
there  was  a  grudging  note  of  admiration  in  his  voice 
when  he  next  spoke. 

"Ain't  takin'  no  chances,  be  you  ?"  he  said  dryly. 

"No.  Don't  you  think  we've  taken  enough  already?" 

367 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Mr.  Clifford  did  not  answer.  He  replaced  the  blank 
check  in  his  pocketbook  and,  from  another  compartment, 
extracted  some  bills  rolled  in  a  tight  little  cylinder  and 
wound  about  with  elastic. 

"There  you  be,"  he  said  shortly.  Then,  turning  to 
Shadrach,  he  added :  "Don't  I  get  nothin'  off  for  payin' 
cash?" 

From  the  back  room  came  a  vigorous  "Haw,  haw!" 
Even  Mary  laughed  aloud.  As  for  Captain  Shad,  he 
could  only  stare,  struck  speechless  by  his  visitor's  au 
dacity.  Mary,  when  she  had  finished  laughing,  answered 
for  him. 

"We  shall  deduct  the  interest  we  might  have  charged 
you,  Mr.  Clifford,"  she  said.  "Thank  you.  There  is 
your  change  and  there  is  the  receipted  bill.  Now,  I  shall 
call  up  Judge  Baxter." 

When  she  returned  from  the  post-office  Jeremiah 
was  still  there.  Shadrach,  all  smiles,  was  doing  up 
parcels. 

"What  are  those,  Uncle  Shad?"  asked  Mary.  Mr. 
Clifford  answered. 

"Oh,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  buy  a  little  sugar  and 
flour  and  such,"  he  said.  "Always  come  in  handy,  they 
do.  Send  'em  up  when  you  get  to  it.  Good-by." 

His  hand  was  on  the  door,  but  Mary  called  to  him. 

"Mr.  Clifford,"  she  called;  "just  a  minute,  please. 
Are  you  in  any  hurry  for  these  things — the  sugar  and 
the  rest  of  it?" 

"No,  don't  know's  I  be,  'special';  why?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  except  that  if  you  were  in  a  hurry  I 
should  advise  your  paying  for  them.  I  told  you,  you 
remember,  that  we  weren't  taking  chances." 

For  an  instant  Jeremiah  stood  there  glowering.  Then 
he  did  another  astonishing  thing.  He  took  out  the 

368 


MARY-'GUSTA 

pocketbook  once  more  and  from  it  extracted  a  two- 
dollar  bill. 

"Take  it  out  of  that,"  he  said,  "and  send  me  a  re 
ceipted  bill  afterwards.  I  always  cal'late  to  know  what 
I've  paid  for.  And  say,  you — what's  your  name — Mary- 
'Gusta,  if  you  get  tired  of  workin'  for  Shad  Gould  and 
Zoeth  Hamilton,  come  round  and  see  me.  I've  got — I 
mean  my  wife's  got — two  or  three  mortgages  that's  be 
hind  on  the  interest.  I  ain't  been  able  to  collect  it  for 
her  yet,  but — but,  by  time,  I  believe  you  could !" 

He  went  out  and  the  next  moment  Mary  was  almost 
smothered  in  her  uncle's  embrace. 

"After  this — after  this"  roared  Shadrach,  "I'll  be 
lieve  anything's  possible  if  you've  got  a  hand  in  it,  Mary- 
'Gusta.  If  you'd  been  Jonah  you'd  have  put  the  whale 
in  your  pocket  and  swum  ashore." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

EARLY  in  April,  when  Mary  announced  that  she 
was  ready  to  put  into  operation  her  biggest  and 
most  ambitious  plan,  suggested  the  year  before  by 
Barbara  Howe — the  tea-room  and  gift-shop  plan — the 
Captain  did  not  offer  strenuous  opposition. 

"I  can't  see  much  sense  in  it,"  he  admitted.  "I  don't 
know's  I  know  what  it's  all  about.  Nigh  as  I  can  make 
out  you're  figgerin'  to  open  up  some  kind  of  a  high- 
toned  eatin'  house.  Is  that  it?" 

"Why,  no,  Uncle  Shad,  not  exactly,"  explained  Mary. 

"Then  what  is  it — a  drinkin'  house?  I  presume  likely 
that's  it,  bein'  as  you  call  it  a  'tea-room.'  Kind  of  a 
temperance  saloon,  eh?  Can't  a  feller  get  coffee  in  it, 
if  he  wants  to?  I  don't  wake  up  nights  much  hankerin' 
for  tea  myself." 

"Listen,  Uncle  Shad:  A  tea-room — at  least  a  tea 
room  of  the  sort  I  intend  to  have — is  a  place  where  the 
summer  people,  the  women  and  girls  especially,  will 
come  and  sit  at  little  tables  and  drink  tea  and  eat  cakes 
and  ice  cream  and  look  off  at  the  ocean,  if  the  weather 
is  pleasant " 

"Yes,  and  at  the  fog,  if  'tain't;  and  talk  about  their 
neighbor's  clothes  and  run  down  the  characters  of  their 
best  friends.  Yes,  yes,  I  see;  sort  of  a  sewin'  circle 
without  the  sewin'.  All  right,  heave  ahead  and  get  your 
tea-room  off  the  ways  if  you  want  to.  If  anybody  can 
make  the  thing  keep  afloat  you  can,  Mary-'Gusta." 

So  Mary,  thus  encouraged,  went  on  to  put  her  scheme 

370 


MARY-'GUSTA 

into  effect.  She  had  been  planning  the  details  for  some 
time.  About  halfway  down  the  lane  leading  to  the 
house  from  the  store  was  another  small  story-and-a-half 
dwelling  of  the  old-fashioned  Cape  Cod  type.  It  stood 
upon  a  little  hill  and  commanded  a  wide  view  of  ocean 
and  beach  and  village.  There  were  some  weather-beaten 
trees  and  a  tangle  of  shrubs  about  it.  It  had  been  unten- 
anted  for  a  good  while  and  was  in  rather  bad  repair. 

Mary  arranged  with  the  owner,  a  Bayport  man,  to 
lease  this  house  and  land  at  a  small  rental  for  three 
years.  In  the  lease  was  included  consent  to  the  making 
of  necessary  alterations  and  repairs  and  the  privilege  of 
purchasing,  at  a  price  therein  named,  at  the  end  of  the 
three  years,  should  the  tenant  wish  to  do  so. 

Then  with  the  aid  of  soap  and  water,  white  paint  and 
whitewash,  attractive  but  inexpensive  wall  papers,  and 
odds  and  ends  of  quaint  old  furniture,  of  which  the  par 
lor  and  best  bedroom  of  the  Gould-Hamilton  home  sup 
plied  the  larger  quantity,  she  proceeded  to  make  over  the 
interior  of  the  little  building.  To  every  bit  of  nautical 
bric-a-brac,  pictures  of  old  sailing  ships  and  sea  curios 
she  gave  especial  prominence.  Then  the  lawn  was 
mowed,  the  tangled  shrubbery  untangled  and  clipped  and 
pruned ;  cheap  but  pretty  lattices  made  to  look  like  the 
shrouds  of  a  ship,  over  which  climbing  roses  were  sup 
posed — some  day — to  twine,  were  placed  against  the 
walls,  and  rustic  tables  set  about  under  the  trees  and  the 
grape  arbor  with  ship  lanterns  hung  above  them.  The 
driveway  down  to  the  lane  was  rolled  and  hardened,  and 
a  sign,  painted  by  Joshua  Bemis,  the  local  "House,  Boat 
and  Sign  Painter,  Tinsmith  and  Glazier" — see  Mr.  Be- 
mis's  advertisement  in  the  Advocate — was  hung  on  a 
frame  by  the  gateway. 

Captain  Shad's  remarks  when  he  first  saw  that  sign 
371 


MARY-'GUSTA 

may  be  worth  quoting.  Mary  had  not  consulted  him 
concerning  it ;  she  deemed  it  best  not  to  do  so.  When  it 
was  in  place,  however,  she  led  him  out  to  inspect.  Shad- 
rach  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  read  as  follows : 

THE  FOR'ARD  LOOKOUT 

TEA  AND  GIFTS 
DAINTY   THINGS   TO   EAT 
PRETTY   THINGS   TO   BUY 

ALL'S  WELL ! 

There  was  the  picture  of  a  full-rigged  ship,  with  every 
stitch  set  alow  and  aloft,  sailing  through  a  sea  of  thick 
green  and  white  paint  toward  a  kind  of  green  wall  with 
green  feather  dusters  growing  out  of  it. 

Shadrach  subjected  this  work  of  art  to  a  long  and 
searching  stare.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"Carryin'  every  rag  she  can  h'ist,"  he  observed;  "no 
body  at  the  wheel,  land  dead  ahead  and  breakers  under 
the  bows.  Looks  to  me  as  if  'twas  liable  to  be  a  short 
v'yage  and  a  lively  one.  But  the  for'ard  lookout  says 
all's  well  and  he  ought  to  know;  he's  had  more  experi 
ence  aboard  gift-shop  ships,  I  presume  likely,  than  I 
have.  What's  those  bristly  things  stickin'  up  along 
shore  there — eel  grass  or  tea  grounds?" 

For  the  first  few  weeks  after  the  tea-room  was  really 
"off  the  ways"  the  optimistic  declaration  of  the  For'ard 
Lookout  seemed  scarcely  warranted  by  the  facts.  Mary 
was  inclined  to  think  that  all  was  by  no  means  well.  In 
fitting  out  the  new  venture  she  had  been  as  economical 
as  she  dared,  but  she  had  been  obliged  to  spend  money 
and  to  take  on  a  fresh  assortment  of  debts.  Then,  too, 
she  had  engaged  the  services  of  a  good  cook  and  two 
waitresses,  so  there  was  a  weekly  expense  bill  to  con- 

372 


MARY-'GUSTA 

sider.  And  the  number  of  motor  cars  which  turned  in 
at  the  new  driveway  was  disappointingly  small. 

But  the  number  grew  larger.  As  people  had  talked 
about  Hamilton  and  Company's  assortment  of  Christmas 
goods,  so  now  they  began  to  talk  about  the  "quaintness 
and  delightful  originality"  of  the  For'ard  Lookout.  The 
tea  was  good ;  the  cakes  and  ices  were  good ;  on  pleasant 
days  the  view  was  remarkably  fine,  and  the  pretty  things 
in  the  gift  shop  were  temptingly  displayed.  So,  as  May 
passed  and  June  came,  and  the  cottages  and  hotels  began 
to  open,  the  business  of  the  new  tea-room  and  gift  shop 
grew  from  fair  to  good  and  from  that  to  very  good  in 
deed. 

Mary  divided  her  time  between  the  store  and  the  tea 
room,  doing  her  best  to  keep  a  supervising  eye  on  each. 
She  was  in  no  mood  to  meet  people  and  kept  out  of  the 
way  of  strangers  as  much  as  possible;  even  of  her  for 
mer  acquaintances  who  came  to  the  For'ard  Lookout 
she  saw  but  few.  If  she  had  not  been  too  busy  she 
might  have  found  it  amusing,  the  contrasting  studies  in 
human  nature  afforded  by  these  former  acquaintances  in 
their  attitude  toward  her. 

For  instance,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Christopher  Mullet  and 
daughter,  Irene,  the  latter  now  through  school  and  "fin 
ished"  until  her  veneering  actually  glittered,  sat  drink 
ing  tea  at  a  table  on  the  lawn.  Said  Mrs.  Mullet : 

"And  this  is  what  it's  come  to ;  after  all  the  airs  and 
frills  and  the  goin'  to  Europe  and  I  don't  know  what  all. 
Here  she  is  keepin'  an  eatin'  house.  An  eatin'  house — 
just  think  of  it!  If  that  ain't  a  comedown!  Wouldn't 
you  think  she'd  be  ashamed,  'Rena?" 

Miss  Mullet  drooped  a  weary  eyelid  and  sighed  a 
hopeless  sigh. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  she  drawled,  in  deep  disgust,  "can't 
373 


MARY-'GUSTA 

you  stop  calling  me  by  that  outlandish  name?  I  was 
christened  Irene,  I  believe.  Please  remember  it." 

"All  right,  'Re — all  right,  Irene;  I  won't  forget  again. 
Oh,  there's  Mary-'Gusta,  now!  Showin'  herself  out 
here  with  all  these  city  folks,  when  she's  nothin'  but  a 
hired  help — a  table  girl,  as  you  might  say !  /  shan't  no 
tice  her,  anyway.  I  may  buy  her  tea  and  stuff,  but  I — 
Who's  that  runnin'  up  to  her  and — and  kissin'  her — 
and — mercy  on  us!  You'd  think  they  was  sisters,  if 
you  didn't  know.  Who  is  it?  Looks  kind  of  common, 
she  does  to  me.  Don't  you  think  so,  'Rena — Irene,  1 
mean?" 

Irene  sniffed. 

"That,"  she  said  with  cutting  emphasis,  "is  Barbara 
Howe.  Her  people  are  building  that  big  summer  house 
at  Osterville  and  her  father  is  a  millionaire,  so  they 
say.  And  her  people  wouldn't  let  her  come  to  the  school 
you  sent  me  to  because  they  thought  it  wasn't  good 
enough  for  her.  That's  how  common  she  is.  I  met  her 
once,  but  she  doesn't  know  me  now,  although  she  is 
perfectly  crazy  over  that  Mary  Lathrop.  I — Oh,  there's 
Father  drinking  out  of  his  saucer  again!  For  heaven's 
sake,  let's  go  home!" 

And  just  then  Barbara  was  enthusiastically  hugging 
her  former  schoolmate  and  exclaiming: 

"You  did  it!  I  knew  you  would  if  you  would  only 
try.  I  said  it  required  a  knack  or  a  genius  or  something 
and  that  I  was  certain  you  had  it.  It's  the  dearest  place 
of  the  kind  I've  ever  seen,  my  dear,  and  if  every  single 
person  I  know  who  is  in  this  vicinity  doesn't  come  here 
at  least  once  a  week  and  spend  lots  and  lots  of  money 
I'll  never  speak  to  them  again.  I'm  going  to  turn  myself 
into  a  walking  phonograph,  my  dear,  with  just  one  rec 
ord:  'If  you  love  me  visit  the  For'ard  Lookout.'  And 

374 


MARY-'GUSTA 

of  course  everyone  loves  me — how  can  they  help  it? 
So — well,  just  wait  and  see  what  happens." 

So  far  as  spreading  abroad  the  praises  of  the  new 
tea-room  was  concerned,  she  was  as  good  as  her  word. 
In  August  the  patronage  was  so  great  and  continuous 
that  Mary  found  it  necessary  to  hire  three  more  wait 
resses  and  a  salesgirl  for  the  gift  shop.  She  spent  more 
of  her  own  time  there,  leaving  the  care  of  the  store  to 
Shadrach,  Simeon  Crocker  and  a  new  clerk,  who  had 
been  hired  to  help  with  the  summer  custom.  When 
early  September  brought  the  beginning  of  the  season's 
end  the  books  of  both  the  Lookout  and  of  Hamilton  and 
Company  showed  a  substantial  profit. 

While  all  this  was  going  on  Zoeth  was  steadily  gain 
ing  in  health  and  strength.  In  July  he  was  sitting  in 
the  sunshine  upon  the  front  porch.  In  August  he  was 
able  to  climb  to  the  buggy  seat  and  be  driven  up  to  the 
store,  where  day  after  day  he  sat  in  his  armchair  be 
hind  the  counter,  watching  what  was  going  on,  listening 
to  his  partner's  happy  chatter — for  Shadrach  was  in 
high  spirits  now — and  occasionally  saying  a  word  or  two 
himself.  On  pleasant  Sundays  he  was  driven  to  church 
and  the  Captain  and  Mary  accompanied  him.  He  was 
white  and  frail  and  thin,  but  the  doctor  assured  them 
that,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  there  was  no  reason  to  ex 
pect  anything  but  a  complete  recovery. 

It  did  seem  to  Captain  Shad,  however,  that  his  part 
ner  had  something  on  his  mind.  He  seemed  often  to 
be  thinking  deeply  and  at  times  to  be  troubled  and  dis 
turbed.  The  Captain  had  never  asked,  never  attempted 
by  questioning  to  learn  what  the  cause  of  the  trouble — 
provided  there  was  any — might  be.  He  had  been  told 
often  enough  that  the  patient  must  not  be  excited,  so  he 
meant  to  take  no  risks,  but  Zoeth's  long  silences  and  the 

375 


MARY-'GUSTA 

expression  on  his  face  as  he  sat  there  in  the  chair,  evi 
dently  thinking  deeply,  puzzled  and  worried  his  friend 
and  partner.  He  noticed  the  same  expression  at  times 
when  Mary  was  in  the  room.  Zoeth's  eyes  would  fol 
low  her  as  she  moved  about  and  in  them  was  the  look 
the  Captain  could  not  understand. 

Shadrach  had  told  his  friend  of  Mary's  sending  young 
Smith  away.  Zoeth  had  asked  concerning  Crawford 
almost  as  soon  as  he  was  permitted  to  take  part  in  a 
lengthy  conversation.  He  appeared  greatly  interested, 
even  eager. 

"But,  Shadrach,"  he  said,  "are  you  sure  she  sent  him 
away  because  she  didn't  care  for  him?  Are  you  sure 
that  was  the  reason?" 

"What  other  reason  could  there  be?"  demanded  the 
Captain.  "She  as  much  as  told  me  that  was  it,  herself. 
I  was  some  surprised,  of  course,  for  I'd  rather  cal'lated 
'twas  as  good  as  settled  between  'em,  but  it  turned  out 
that  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  talkin'  about.  That  has 
happened  afore  in  my  life,  strange  as  it  may  seem,"  he 
added  dryly. 

Zoeth  sighed.    "I  wish "  he  said  slowly,  "I  wish  I 

knew " 

"What  do  you  wish  you  knew?" 

"Eh?  Oh,  nothin'.  If — if  I  was  only  a  little  mite 
stronger  I'd  try  to  talk  with  Mary-'Gusta  myself.  I'd 
like — I'd  like  to  have  her  tell  me  about  it." 

"Meanin'  you  don't  believe  me,  eh?  There,  there, 
shipmate,  it's  all  right.  I  was  only  jokin'.  But  I 
wouldn't  ask  Mary-'Gusta  about  that,  if  I  was  you. 
Course  I  know  she  cares  as  much  or  more  for  her  Uncle 
Zoeth  than  for  anybody  on  earth,  and  she'd  tell  him  any 
thing  if  he  asked  her;  but  I  don't  believe Well,  I 

wouldn't  ask,  if  I  was  you.    You  understand?" 

376 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Yes,  yes,  Shadrach,  I  think  I  understand.  You 
mean  she  felt  bad  to  have  to  say — what  she  did  say — 
to  that  young  man  and  she  wouldn't  want  to  be  re 
minded  of  it?" 

"That's  about  it,  Zoeth." 

Silence  for  some  minutes.  Both  partners  were  occu 
pied  with  their  thoughts.  Then  Zoeth  said: 

"Shadrach,  I— I " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  The  Captain  ventured 
to  remind  him. 

"Yes,  Zoeth,  what  is  "it?"  he  asked. 

"Nothin'.  I — I  can't  tell  you  now.  By  and  by,  if  .the 

good  Lord  gives  me  strength  again,  I'll Never 

mind,  now.  Don't  ask  me,  please." 

So  Shadrach  did  not  ask,  but  he  was  puzzled  and  a 
little  anxious.  What  was  it  his  partner  had  to  tell  and 
found  the  telling  so  difficult? 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IT  was  not  until  a  day  in  mid-September  that  Captain 
Shadrach  learned  his  partner's  secret.  He  and  Zoeth 
and  Mary  were  at  the  store  together.  Business  was 
still  good,  but  the  rush  was  over.  The  summer  cottages 
were  closing  and  most  of  the  Cape  hotels  had  already 
closed.  The  For'ard  Lookout  had  taken  down  its  sign  at 
the  end  of  the  previous  week.  Its  voyage  for  that  year 
was  over.  It  had  been  a  prosperous  one. 

Mary  was  sorry  that  the  busy  season  was  at  an  end. 
She  was  very,  very  tired;  she  had  allowed  herself  no 
rest,  had  taken  no  holidays,  had  done  her  best  to  think 
of  nothing  except  matters  connected  with  Hamilton  and 
Company  or  the  tea-room.  These,  fortunately,  had 
given  her  enough  to  think  of;  other  thoughts  she  reso 
lutely  crowded  from  her  mind.  Now  there  would  be  no 
tea-room  to  plan  for,  and,  thanks  to  Sim  Crocker  and 
the  competent  way  in  which  he  had  assumed  care  of  the 
store,  she  no  longer  felt  the  absolute  necessity  of  remain 
ing  there  from  daylight  until  late  in  the  evening.  Her 
Uncle  Zoeth  was  almost  well,  also ;  she  would  no  longer 
have  his  health  as  an  additional  burden  upon  her  mind. 
She  was  in  danger  of  being  forced  to  think  of  herself, 
and  that  she  knew  she  must  not  do.  Thinking  of  herself 
would  surely  mean  thinking  of  someone  else  and  of 
what  might  have  been.  And  what  useless,  hopeless 
thinking  that  would  be !  No,  no !  She  must  find  some 
thing  else  to  keep  her  thoughts  occupied. 

So  she  was  planning  the  making  over  and  enlarging 
378 


MARY-'GUSTA 

of  the  store  front,  putting  in  larger  and  better  windows 
and  strengthening  the  platform.  She  was  discussing  the 
plan  with  Shadrach  and  Zoeth  when  John  Keith  en 
tered.  The  Keiths  were  leaving  South  Harniss  rather 
early  that  year  and  the  head  of  the  family  had  dropped 
in  to  say  good-by.  Mr.  Keith's  liking  for  Mary  was  as 
strong  as  ever,  and  for  her  uncles  he  had,  by  this  time, 
a  very  real  regard,  a  feeling  which  was  reciprocated 
by  them. 

Conversation  began  in  the  way  the  majority  of  con 
versations  begin,  with  a  discussion  of  the  weather,  its 
recent  past,  present,  and  probable  future,  shifted  to 
the  tea-room  and  its  success  and  then  to  the  visitor's 
recent  trip  to  New  York,  from  which  city  he  had  just 
returned.  It  was  near  the  noon  hour  and  there  were 
few  customers  to  interrupt.  Those  who  did  come  were 
taken  care  of  by  Mr.  Crocker. 

"Anything  new  happenin'  over  there?"  inquired  Cap 
tain  Shadrach,  asking  news  of  the  metropolis  exactly  as 
he  would  have  asked  concerning  the  gossip  of  Harniss 
Center.  "Meet  anybody  you  knew,  did  you?" 

Keith  smiled.  "Why,  yes,"  he  said.  "I  met  the  peo 
ple  I  went  to  see.  Mine  was  a  business  trip.  I  didn't 
meet  anyone  unexpectedly,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

The  Captain  nodded.  "Didn't  get  down  on  South 
Street,  did  you  ?"  he  asked.  "No,  I  thought  not.  If  you 
had  you'd  have  met  plenty.  When  I  was  goin'  to  sea  I 
bet  I  never  went  cruisin'  down  South  Street  in  my  life 
that  I  didn't  run  afoul  of  somebody  I  wan't  expectin'  to. 
Greatest  place  for  meetin'  folks  in  the  world,  I  cal'late 
South  Street  is.  Lots  of  seafarin'  men  have  told  me 
so." 

Keith's  smile  broadened  as  he  was  handed  this  nugget 
of  wisdom.  Then  he  said: 

379 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"You  remind  me,  Captain,  that  I  did  meet  someone, 
after  all.  In  Boston,  not  in  New  York,  and  I  met  him 
only  yesterday.  It  was  someone  you  know,  too,  and 
Mary  here  used  to  know  him  quite  well,  I  think — young 
Crawford  Smith,  Sam's  Harvard  friend.  He  visited  us 
here  in  South  Harniss  one  summer." 

Shadrach  was  the  only  one  of  the  trio  of  listeners  who 
made  any  comment  at  all  on  this  speech.  Even  he  did 
not  speak  for  a  moment,  glancing  apprehensively  at 
Mary  before  doing  so.  Mary  said  nothing,  and  Zoeth, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  face  hidden  from  his  part 
ner's  gaze  by  the  end  of  the  counter,  did  not  speak. 

"Sho!"  exclaimed  the  Captain.  "Sho!  So  you  met 
him,  did  you!  In  Boston?  That's  funny.  I  had  an 
idea  he  was  out  West  somewheres." 

"So  did  I.  The  last  I  heard  concerning  him  he  had 
given  up  his  studies  in  the  East  here — he  was  studying 
medicine,  as  perhaps  you  know — and  had  gone  back  to 
his  home  in  Nevada.  His  father,  who  was  not  at  all 
well,  asked  him  to  do  so.  He  had  written  Sam  once  or 
twice  from  out  there.  So  I  was  surprised  enough  to 
see  him  in  Boston.  I  met  him  in  the  South  Station  and 
we  chatted  for  a  few  moments.  He  told  me  that  his 
father  was  dead." 

From  behind  the  end  of  the  counter  where  Zoeth 
sat  came  an  odd  sound,  a  sort  of  gasp.  Shadrach  leaned 
forward  quickly. 

"What's  the  matter,  Zoeth?"  he  asked.  Before  Zoeth 
could  answer  Mary  spoke: 

"Dead!"  she  repeated.  "Mr.  Keith,  I— did— did  you 
say  Crawford  Smith's  father  was  dead?" 

Her  tone  was  so  strange  that  even  Mr.  Keith  could  not 
help  noticing  it.  He  looked  at  her,  seemed  about  to 
ask  a  question,  and  then  answered  hers  instead. 

380 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said;  "he  is  dead.  He  had  been  in 
poor  health  for  some  time,  so  his  son  told  me,  and  about 
two  weeks  ago  he  died.  Crawford  did  not  tell  me  any 
particulars,  nor  did  he  say  what  had  brought  him  East. 
In  fact,  he  didn't  seem  anxious  to  talk;  acted  as  if  he 
had  something  on  his  mind.  Of  course  I  said  I  was 
sorry  and  he  thanked  me  and  inquired  regarding  Mrs. 
Keith  and  Edna  and  Sam.  Then  I  had  to  hurry  for  my 
train.  .  .  .  Oh,  are  you  going,  Mary?  Well,  then,  I 
must  say  good-by  until  next  summer;  we  leave  tomor 
row  morning." 

Mary  explained,  rather  hurriedly,  that  she  must  speak 
with  Simeon  for  a  few  minutes,  said  good-by,  shook 
hands  and  hastened  out.  Keith  looked  after  her. 

"I  hope  I  haven't  made  a  blunder,"  he  said,  "in  speak 
ing  of  young  Smith.  She  and  he  were  quite — er — 
friendly  at  one  time,  weren't  they.  I  understood  so  from 
some  remarks  of  Sam's.  Didn't  put  my  foot  in  it  by 
mentioning  the  boy's  name,  did  I?  I  certainly  hope 
not." 

Zoeth  did  not  speak.  Shadrach  hastened  to  reassure 
him. 

"No,  no!"  he  said.  "There  was  one  time  when  even 
me  and  Zoeth  figgered  there  might  be — er — well,  we 
didn't  know  but  what  he  and  she  was  liable  to  be  more'n 
just  friends.  But  it's  all  off  now,  seems  so.  They  don't 
even  write  each  other,  I  guess.  I  cal'late  maybe  Mary- 
'Gusta  got  tired  of  him,"  he  explained.  "He  was  a  real 
nice  young  feller,  but  he  probably  wan't  quite  good 
enough  for  her.  Fur's  that  goes,"  he  added,  with  the 
emphasis  of  absolute  conviction,  "/  never  laid  eyes  on 
one  that  was." 

Keith  looked  relieved.  "Well,  I'm  glad  if  I  didn't 
make  a  mistake,"  he  said.  "She  seemed  so  startled  when 


MARY-'GUSTA 

I  said  that  the  man  was  dead  and  her  manner  was  so 
odd.  Didn't  you  notice  it  yourself,  Captain?" 

Shadrach  nodded. 

"I  noticed  she  seemed  sort  of  sot  all  aback,"  he  said, 
"but  I  don't  know's  that's  so  strange  when  you  consider 
that  she  and  Crawford  used  to  be  such  friends.  More'n 
probable  she's  heard  him  talk  a  good  deal  about  his 
father." 

"Well,  perhaps  so.  No  doubt  that  is  it.  I'm  afraid 
she  is  working  too  hard  and  worrying  too  much  over 
her  various  enterprises  here.  She  is  succeeding  wonder 
fully,  of  course,  but  I  don't  like  to  see  her  losing  those 
roses  in  her  cheeks.  They're  much  too  precious  to  lose. 
Keep  your  eye  on  her,  Captain,  and  don't  let  her  wear 
herself  out." 

He  soon  said  good-by.  Captain  Shadrach  accom 
panied  him  to  the  door.  Zoeth  remained  where  he  was, 
not  rising  even  when  he  shook  hands  with  his  depart 
ing  friend.  But  when  the  Captain  turned  back  he 
saw  his  partner  standing  by  the  end  of  the  counter  and 
clutching  it  with  one  hand  while  he  beckoned  with  the 
other.  Shadrach  gave  him  one  look  and  then  crossed 
the  space  between  them  in  two  strides. 

"For  the  land  sakes,  Zoeth,"  he  begged,  "what's  the 
matter  ?" 

Zoeth  waved  him  to  silence.  "Sshh!  sshh!"  he 
pleaded  in  a  whisper.  "Don't  holler  so ;  she'll  hear  you. 
Shadrach,  I— I " 

"What  is  it?"  broke  in  his  friend.  "What's  the  mat 
ter,  Zoeth?  Shall  I  fetch  the  doctor?" 

"No,  no.  I'm — I'm  all  right,  Shadrach,  I've  just  had 
— had  a  kind  of  shock — a  surprise,  that's  all.  I  ain't 
very  strong  yet  and  it — it  kind  of  upset  me.  But,  Shad 
rach,  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  want  to  tell  you  somethin' 

382 


MARY-'GUSTA 

right  away.  I  can't  keep  it  to  myself  any  longer.  Can't 
we  go  home — to  my  room  or  somewheres — where  we  can 
talk?  Please,  Shadrach!" 

"There,  there,  shipmate;  take  it  easy.  Go  home? 
Course  we  can!  Hey,  Sim!"  shouting  to  Mr.  Crocker, 
who  was  in  the  back  room.  "You  and  Mary  can  take 
care  of  the  store,  can't  you?  Zoeth  and  me  are  goin' 
home  for  dinner." 

Simeon  replied  that  Mary  was  not  there;  she  had 
gone  out  the  back  way,  down  to  the  house,  he  thought. 
"But  you  go  ahead,  Cap'n  Shad,"  he  added.  "I  can  take 
care  of  the  store  all  right." 

At  home,  and  in  Mr.  Hamilton's  room,  the  Captain 
pulled  forward  the  most  comfortable  chair,  forced  his 
partner  to  sit  in  it,  closed  and  locked  the  door,  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  said : 

"There!  Now  we're  all  taut  and  shipshape  and  no 
body  can  get  aboard  to  interrupt.  Fire  away,  Zoeth. 
What  is  it  you've  got  to  tell?" 

Zoeth,  his  hand  trembling,  reached  into  the  inside 
pocket  of  his  coat,  took  out  an  old-fashioned  wallet  and 
from  it  produced  a  much-crumpled  envelope. 

"Shadrach,"  he  said,  "I  don't  hardly  know  how  to 
begin.  It  seems  so  strange  to  think  that  you  and  me, 
who've  been  so  close  to  each  other  all  these  years,  should 
have  a  secret  between  us,  if  only  for  a  little  while.  It 
seems  wicked.  I  guess  'tis  wicked,  and  I'm  the  wicked 
one  for  keepin'  it  from  you." 

The  Captain  laughed. 

"You  couldn't  be  wicked  if  you  was  apprenticed  to 
the  Old  Harry  for  ten  years,  Zoeth,"  he  said.  "You 
don't  know  how  to  be  and  the  devil  himself  couldn't 
teach  you.  Now,  don't  waste  time  tellin'  me  I'm  speak 
ing  lightly  of  sacred  things,"  he  added.  "For  one  thing, 

383 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  Old  Scratch  ain't  sacred,  as  I  know  of,  and  for  an 
other  I  want  to  hear  that  secret.  What  is  it  ?" 

Zoeth  shook  his  head.  "I  am  wicked,  all  the  same," 
he  said,  "but  I  guess  I've  been  punished.  There  wan't 
any  real  reason  why  I  shouldn't  have  told  you  afore,  but 
somehow  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  to  speak  of  it.  I 
just  couldn't.  But  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  now,  Shad- 
rach." 

He  held  up  the  crumpled  envelope. 

"You  remember  when  I  was  took  sick?"  he  said. 
"You  remember  I  was  struck  down  all  of  a  heap  in  the 
kitchen?  Yes;  well,  did  you  ever  wonder  what  it  was 
struck  me  down  ?  I'll  tell  you.  'Twas  a  letter  that  came 
to  me  in  the  mail  that  morning.  This  was  the  letter.  I 
managed  to  put  it  in  my  inside  vest  pocket  that  time 
when  Isaiah  run  off  after  you  and  left  me  lyin'  there.- 
I  didn't  want  him  to  see  it.  I  didn't  want  anybody  to — 
not  then.  Now  I  want  you  to  read  it,  Shadrach.  But 
before  you  do,  let  me  warn  you.  You  should  ask  the 
Almighty  to  give  you  strength.  You're  goin'  to  be  sur 
prised,  Shadrach,  surprised  and  shocked.  Here  it  is; 
read  it." 

He  handed  the  envelope  to  his  partner.  The  latter 
took  it,  wonderingly,  and  looked  at  the  inscription. 

"Nobody's  handwritin'  that  I  know,"  he  said. 

"You  knew  it  once  well  enough." 

"I  did?  And  it  was  mailed  out  in  Carson  City,  Ne 
vada.  Why,  that's  where  the  Crawford  Smith  boy  lives, 
ain't  it?  What  on  earth?" 

He  opened  the  envelope  and  from  it  took  several 
sheets  closely  covered  with  finely  written  lines.  He  be 
gan  to  read  and,  as  he  read,  his  expression  changed 
from  curiosity  to  wonder,  to  amazement,  to  anger,  to  a 
mixture  of  the  last  three.  The  final  sheet  fell  from 

384 


MARY-'GUSTA 

his  fingers  to  the  floor.    He  looked  up  with  a  very  white 
face. 
"My  God!"  he  said  solemnly. 

A  half -hour  later  they  were  still  talking.  Shadrach 
had  not  entirely  recovered  from  the  surprise,  but  now 
he  could  think  and  speak  more  coherently,  although  the 
wonder  of  it  all  was  overpowering. 

"It  seems  as  if  the  hand  of  the  Lord  was  in  it,"  he 
declared. 

"It  is,"  agreed  Zoeth,  with  absolute  conviction.  "See 
how  it  worked  out  accordin'  to  His  promise.  The  wicked 
flourished  for  a  time,  but  God  sent  the  punishment  in 
due  season,  didn't  He?  Can't  you  see  the  poor  feller's 
agonizin'  in  every  line  of  that  letter?" 

"Poor  feller!  Good  Lord  above,  Zoeth  Hamilton, 
you  ain't  pityin'  him,  are  you?  You  ain't  sorry  for  him 
— you?" 

Zoeth  nodded.  "I  wan't  at  first,"  he  said.  "At  first 
the  whole  thing,  comin'  on  me  out  of  a  clear  sky  as  you 
might  say,  knocked  me  flat.  The  doctor,  when  he  came, 
said  he  thought  I  must  have  had  a  sudden  shock.  I  did ; 
that  was  it,  that  letter.  But  later  on,  when  I  was  gettin' 
better  and  could  think  again,  and  when  I  was  alone  and 
had  the  chance  and  could  read  the  letter  again,  I  began 
to — to — well,  not  forgive  him  for  what  he  done — I  don't 
suppose  I  can  ever  do  that." 

"I  should  say  not!    Damn  him!" 

"Hush,  Shadrach;  he's  dead." 

"So  he  is.  I  forgot.  Then  he's  damned,  I  guess,  with 
out  any  orders  from  me." 

"He  was  damned  here  on  earth,  Shadrach.  All  his 
life — the  last  part  of  it,  anyhow — must  have  been  a  tor 
ment.  He  must  have  idolized  that  boy  of  his.  He  says 

385 


MARY-'GUSTA 

so  in  the  letter,  but  it's  plain  on  every  line  of  the  writin' 
without  his  sayin'  it.  And  can't  you  just  imagine  him, 
as  the  boy  grew  up  and  they  loved  each  other  more  and 
more,  tremblin'  and  scared  every  minute  for  fear  that 
somehow  or  other  his  son'll  learn  that  the  father  he 
loves  and  respects  is  a — a  thief — and — and  worse? 
Seems  to  me  I  can  imagine  it.  And  then  all  at  once  the 
boy  comes  to  him  and  says  he  wants  to  marry — Oh,  my 
soul !  Shadrach,  think  of  it ! — he  wants  to  marry  your 
girl  and  mine — Marcellus's  stepdaughter.  Why,  it  must 
have  driven  him  nigh  crazy.  And  then  they  quarrel,  and 
the  boy,  the  only  bein'  on  earth  he's  livin'  for,  goes  off 
and  leaves  him.  And  he  knows  he's  comin'  here — to  us 
— and  that  some  time  or  other  he's  sartin  to  learn 
everything.  No  wonder  he  wrote  that  letter.  No  won' 
der " 

The  Captain  interrupted. 

"Writin'  you,  of  all  people!"  he  said.  "Writin'  you 
and  beggin'  you  not  to  let  Mary-'Gusta  marry  his  son: 
and  for  what?  To  save  the  boy  from  somethin'  bad? 
No!  For  all  he  knew,  Mary-'Gusta  might  be  what  she 
is,  the  best  and  finest  girl  on  earth.  What  he  was  beg 
gin'  for  was  himself — that  his  son  shouldn't  know  what 
he  was,  that's  all.  No,  Zoeth,  I  can't  pity  him  much. 
He's  dead,  and  that's  a  good  thing,  too.  The  wonder  of 
it  is  that  he's  been  alive  all  this  time  and  we  didn't  know. 
And  to  think — but  there;  it's  all  wonderful." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  moment.    Then  Zoeth  said: 

"The  one  thing  that's  troubled  me  most  in  all  this, 
Shadrach,  is  about  Mary-'Gusta  herself.  How  does  she 
really  feel  towards  Crawford?  She  sent  him  away,  you 
told  me  that,  but  are  you  sure  she  did  it  because  she 
didn't  care  enough  for  him  to  marry  him  ?  Are  you  sure 
there  wan't  any  other  reason?" 

386 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"She  gave  me  to  understand  there  wan't.  What  other 
reason  could  there  be?" 

"Well — well,  Shadrach,  it  all  depends,  seems  to  me. 
You  know  Mary-'Gusta ;  the  last  person  she  thinks  about 
on  earth  is  herself.  If  she  did  think  a  sight  of  Crawford, 
if  she  thought  enough  of  him,  she  wouldn't  let  him 
suffer  on  account  of  her,  would  she?  She  knew,  prob 
ably,  that  he  loved  and  respected  his  father  and  a 
father's  good  name  must  mean  a  lot  to  a  son.  Then, 
there  is  us — you  and  me,  Shadrach.  She  wouldn't  let 
us  suffer,  if  she  could  help  it.  Do  you  see  what  I 
mean  ?" 

"Humph!"  mused  the  Captain,  thinking  aloud,  "I 
cal'late  I  do,  Zoeth.  You  mean  if  Mary-'Gusta 
had  found  out  the  facts  about  Ed  Farmer,  who  he 
was  and  what  he  done,  and  if  she  knew  Crawford 
Smith's  dad  was  Ed  Farmer  and  that  Crawford 
didn't  know  it  and  we  didn't  know  it — you  mean 
that,  bein'  Mary-'Gusta,  rather  than  bring  sorrow  and 
trouble  on  Crawford  and  on  us,  she'd  sacrifice  her 
own  feelin's  and — and  would  pretend  she  didn't 
care  for  him  so  as  to  get  him  to  go  away  and 
save  him  and  us.  That's  what  you  mean,  I  presume 
likely." 

"That's  it,  Shadrach." 

"Um — yes.  Well,  there's  just  one  thing  that  makes 
that  notion  seem  consider'ble  more  than  unlikely.  How 
in  the  world  could  she  have  found  out  that  there  ever 
was  an  Edgar  Farmer " 

"Good  many  folks  in  South  Harniss  could  have  told 
her  that  if  they'd  had  a  mind  to." 

"Maybe  so;  but  they  couldn't  have  told  her  that 
Edwin  Smith,  of  Carson  City,  Nevada,  was  ever  Edgar 
Farmer.  No,  sir,  they  couldn't!  Nobody  knew  it — but 

387 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Ed  Farmer  himself.    How  could  our  Mary-'Gusta  know 
it?" 

"I  don't  know,  Shadrach,  unless — she's  awful  smart, 
you  know — somethin'  might  have  put  her  on  the  track 
and  she  puzzled  it  out.  I  know  that  ain't  likely;  but, 
Shadrach,  if  she  does  care  for  Crawford  and  he  cares 
for  her,  I — I  want  'em  to  have  each  other.  I  do.  They 
must." 

Shadrach  stared  at  him. 

"Zoeth  Hamilton,"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you  know  what 
you're  sayin'?  You  want  our  girl  to  marry  the  son  of 
the  man  that— that " 

"I  know  what  he  did,  Shadrach ;  you  don't  need  to  tell 
me.  But  he's  dead,  and  his  boy  is  a  good  boy — you  liked 
him  and  so  did  I.  And  Shadrach,  I've  been  thinkin'  an 
awful  lot  about  this  since  I  got  the  letter  and  have  been 
well  enough  to  think.  And  I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
just  this:  There  has  been  sorrow  and  trouble  enough 
brought  on  already  by  that  wickedness.  There  shan't 
be  any  more.  What  wrecked  all  our  lives  thirty-five 
years  ago  shan't  wreck  these  two,  if  I  can  help  it.  If 
Mary-'Gusta  cares  for  him  and  he  for  her  they  must 
have  each  other  and  be  happy.  And  you  and  I  will  be 
happy  watchin'  their  happiness." 

He  paused  and  then  added : 

"So  I  wish,  Shadrach,  there  was  some  way  of  findin' 
out  for  sure  that  she  sent  him  away  because  she  didn't 
care  for  him  and  not  for  any  other  reason." 

Shadrach  rose  from  his  chair  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  shoulder.  He  cleared  his  throat  once  or  twice 
before  speaking  and  there  was  still  a  shake  in  his  voice 
as  he  said: 

"Zoeth,  you're  a  better  man  than  I  ever  hope  to  be. 
I  declare  you  make  me  ashamed  of  myself." 

388 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Neither  of  them  ate  much  dinner,  although  Isaiah  had 
prepared  a  cranberry  pie,  made  from  the  first  fruit  of 
the  fall  season,  and  was  correspondingly  disappointed 
when  both  of  his  employers  left  it  untouched. 

"Ain't  a  mite  of  use  my  slavin'  myself  to  death  cookin' 
fancy  vittles  for  this  crew,"  he  grumbled.  "I  stood  over 
that  cookstove  this  mornin'  until  I  got  so  everlastin'  hot 
that  every  time  the  cold  air  blowed  onto  me  I  steamed. 
And  yet  I  can't  satisfy." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can,"  observed  Captain  Shad,  rising  from 
the  table.  "You  satisfied  us  too  quick,  that  was  the 
trouble.  We  was  satisfied  afore  we  got  to  the  pie." 

"Umph!  I  want  to  know!  Well,  Mary-'Gusta  was 
satisfied  afore  that.  She  didn't  eat  hardly  anything. 
Said  she  wan't  hungry.  I  swan  if  it  ain't  discouragin' ! 
What's  the  use  of  you  folks  havin'  a  cook?  If  you're 
goin'  to  have  canary-bird  appetites,  why  don't  you  feed 
on  bird  seed  and  be  done  with  it?  And  I  do  believe  I 
never  made  a  better  pie  than  that!" 

"Where's  Mary-'Gusta?"  asked  Zoeth. 

"I  don't  know.  She  went  up  to  her  room.  She  may 
be  there  yet,  or  she  may  have  come  down  and  gone  out 
again — I  don't  know.  If  she  did  come  down  I  didn't 
see  her." 

Shadrach  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  had  been  a 
dark,  gloomy  morning  and  now  it  was  beginning  to 
rain.  The  wind  was  whining  through  the  tops  of  the 
silver-leafs  and  the  moan  of  the  breakers  on  the  bar 
sounded  with  a  clearness  which  denoted  the  approach  of 
a  northeaster. 

"Dirty  weather,"  observed  the  Captain.  "And  it'll  be 
dirtier  yet  before  night.  You  better  stay  here  in  snug 
harbor  this  afternoon,  Zoeth.  Simmie  and  the  boy  and 
Mary-'Gusta  and  I  can  tend  store  all  right.  Yes,  yes, 

389 


MARY-'GUSTA 

you  stay  right  here  and  keep  dry.  Hope  Mary-'Gusta 
took  an  umbrella  when  she  went." 

"I  don't  know  as  she  has  gone,"  said  Isaiah.  "She 
may  be  upstairs  in  her  room  yet.  That's  where  she 
was." 

Shadrach,  after  calling  "Mary-'Gusta"  several  times 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  went  up  to  make  sure.  The 
door  of  Mary's  room  was  closed  but,  as  he  received  no 
answer  to  his  knock,  he  opened  it  and  entered.  Mary 
was  not  there,  although  it  was  evident  that  she  had  been 
there  very  recently. 

Apparently  she  had  been  writing  a  letter,  for  her 
writing  case  was  spread  out  upon  the  table.  Also  the 
drawer  in  which  she  kept  it  had  been  left  open,  an  un 
usual  act  of  carelessness  on  her  part,  for,  generally 
speaking,  as  her  Uncle  Shad  said,  "Nothin's  ever  out  of 
place  in  Mary-'Gusta's  room  except  some  of  the  places, 
and  that's  the  carpenter's  fault,  not  hers." 

The  Captain  stepped  over  to  close  the  drawer.  As 
he  did  so  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  photograph 
lying  upon  a  pile  of  photographs  in  a  box  inside  the 
drawer.  He  picked  up  the  photograph  and  looked  at  it. 
It  was  that  of  Edwin  Smith,  taken  when  he  seemed  to 
be  recovering  from  his  illness,  the  one  which  showed 
him  without  a  beard. 

Shadrach's  eyes  opened  wide  as  he  looked  at  the  pho 
tograph.  He  uttered  an  exclamation,  stepped  to  the  door 
of  the  upper  hall  and  called,  "Zoeth!"  Then  he  re 
turned  to  the  table  and  took  from  the  drawer  the  next 
photograph  upon  the  pile  in  the  box.  It  was  the  old, 
faded  picture  of  the  partners  of  Hall  and  Company. 

Isaiah  came  stumbling  up  the  stairs. 

"Anythin'  I  can  do  for  you,  Cap'n  Shad?"  he  asked. 
"Zoeth,  he's  gone  out  to  shut  up  the  barn  door.  Rain 

390 


MARY-'GUSTA 

was  liable  to  beat  in,  he  said.  I  told  him  I'd  do  it, 
but Godfreys  mighty!" 

The  Captain  had  paid  no  attention  to  him  and  he  had 
entered  the  room  and  approached  his  employer  from 
behind.  Now  over  the  latter's  shoulder  he  saw  the  two 
photographs. 

"Godfreys  mighty!"  cried  the  startled  Isaiah. 

Shadrach  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"Well,"  he  demanded,  "what's  the  matter?  What  are 
you  starin'  like  that  for?" 

"Them — them  pictures,"  gasped  Mr.  Chase. 

"Well,  what  about  'em?  Where  did  Mary-'Gusta 

get  'em,  do  you  know?  Did Here!  Where  are 

you  goin'?" 

"I — I  ain't  goin'  anywheres.  I'm  a-goin'  downstairs. 
I  got  my  dishwashin'  to  do.  I — let  go  of  me,  Cap'n 
Shad !  I  got  to  go  this  minute,  I  tell  you." 

But  the  Captain  did  not  let  go  of  him.  Instead,  keep 
ing  a  firm  hold  upon  the  collar  of  the  frightened  cook 
and  steward,  he  twisted  him  around  until  he  could  look 
him  straight  in  the  eye.  This  was  difficult,  for  Isaiah 
plainly  did  not  wish  to  be  looked  at  in  that  manner. 

"Humph!"  grunted  Captain  Shad,  after  a  moment's 
inspection.  "Humph!  I  cal'late  I've  got  the  right  pig 
by  the  ear  this  time.  Set  down  in  that  chair,  Isaiah 
Chase ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  northeaster  was  developing.  It  was  now  rain 
ing  hard  and  the  wind  was  rising.  The  gusts 
swept  across  the  top  of  the  little  hill  and  the  win 
dow  sashes  of  the  For'ard  Lookout  rattled  and  the  hinges 
of  the  ancient  blinds  squeaked.  The  yard,  which  had  been 
so  attractive,  was  shorn  of  its  decorations.  The  tables 
had  been  carried  inside;  the  lanterns  taken  down;  the 
wonderful  sign,  pride  of  the  talented  Mr.  Bemis,  had  been 
tenderly  conveyed  to  the  attic.  Cook,  waitresses  and 
salesgirl  had  departed.  The  tea-room  and  gift  shop  had 
gone  into  winter  quarters  to  hibernate  until  the  following 
spring. 

The  rooms  inside  had  been  thoroughly  swept  and 
cleaned  and  most  of  the  furniture  and  the  best  of  the 
old  prints  covered  with  dust  cloths.  Some  of  the 
smaller  articles,  however,  were  still  upon  the  shelves  of 
the  gift  shop,  Mary  having  ordered  her  assistants  to 
leave  them  there,  as  she  wished  to  look  them  over  her 
self  before  putting  them  away.  Some  of  her  selections 
for  stock  had  sold  remarkably  well  and  she  had  been 
obliged  to  reorder  many  times ;  others  of  which  she  had 
been  quite  confident  when  purchasing  had  not  sold  at 
all.  Both  good  sellers  and  bad  she  meant  to  list  as  a 
guide  to  future  choosing. 

She  was  listing  them  now.  Alone  in  the  room  which 
had  once  been  the  sacred  best  parlor  of  the  little  house, 
she  was  seated  at  the  table,  pencil  in  hand  and  memoran 
dum  books  and  paper  before  her.  There  was  no  particu- 

392 


MARY-'GUSTA 

lar  reason  why  the  listing  should  have  been  done  that 
day ;  it  might  have  been  done  any  day  until  the  weather 
became  too  cold  to  work  in  an  unheated  house.  That 
morning  she  had  had  no  idea  of  doing  it  that  afternoon. 
She  was  doing  it  now  because  she  felt  that  she  must  do 
something  to  occupy  her  mind,  and  because  she  wished 
to  be  alone.  Up  there  at  the  For'ard  Lookout  she  could 
combine  the  two — work  and  seclusion. 

When  Mr.  Keith  told,  at  the  store  that  morning,  the 
news  of  Edwin  Smith's — or  Edgar  Farmer's — death  she 
had  been  dreadfully  shaken  by  it.  It  was  so  sudden,  so 
unexpected — when  she  last  heard  the  man  was,  so  the 
doctors  said,  almost  well.  She  had  thought  of  him  often 
enough  during  the  past  year ;  or,  rather,  she  had  thought 
of  Crawford  as  being  with  him  and  of  the  father's  joy 
in  his  son's  return  to  him  and  the  knowledge  that  his 
own  disgraceful  secret  would  not  be  revealed.  And  she 
had  pictured  Crawford  as  finding  solace  for  his  disap 
pointed  love  in  his  father's  society.  That  Edgar  Farmer 
had  been  what  Isaiah  called  him — a  blackguard — she 
realized  perfectly,  but  she  was  equally  sure  that,  as  Ed 
win  Smith,  he  had  been  the  kindest  and  most  loving  of 
fathers.  And  Crawford,  although  he  had  been  willing 
to  leave  him  because  of  her,  loved  him  dearly. 

And  now  he  was  dead,  and  Crawford  was  left  alone. 
Somehow  she  felt  responsible  for  the  death.  That  it 
had  been  hastened  by  the  terrible  alarm  and  stress  of 
the  previous  year  was,  of  course,  certain.  She  thought 
of  Crawford  alone  and  with  this  new  sorrow,  and  this 
thought,  and  that  of  her  responsibility,  was  almost  more 
than  she  could  bear. 

She  felt  that  she  must  write  him,  that  he  must  know 
she  had  heard  and  was  thinking  of  him.  So,  after  leav 
ing  the  store,  she  had  hastened  down  to  the  house  and  up 

393 


MARY-'GUSTA 

the  back  stairs  to  her  room.  There  she  had  written  a 
few  lines,  not  more  than  a  note,  but  the  composing  of 
that  note  had  been  a  difficult  task.  There  was  so  much 
she  longed  to  say  and  so  little  she  could  say.  When  it 
was  written  she  remembered  that  Crawford  was  in  Bos 
ton  and  she  did  not  know  his  address.  She  determined 
to  send  the  letter  to  the  Nevada  home  and  trust  to  its 
being  forwarded. 

She  took  from  the  back  of  the  drawer  the  box  of 
photographs  and  looked  them  over.  As  she  was  doing 
so  Isaiah  called  her  to  dinner.  Then  she  heard  her 
uncles  come  in  and,  because  she  felt  that  she  could  talk 
with  no  one  just  then,  she  avoided  them  by  hastily  go 
ing  down  the  front  stairs.  She  made  a  pretense  of  eat 
ing  and  left  the  house.  Isaiah  did  not  see  her  go.  After 
stopping  at  the  store  long  enough  to  tell  Mr.  Crocker 
she  would  be  at  the  tea-room  that  afternoon,  she  climbed 
the  hill,  unlocked  the  door  of  the  For'ard  Lookout,  en 
tered  and  began  her  work. 

The  wind  howled  and  whined  and  the  rain  beat 
against  the  windows.  The  blinds  creaked,  the  sashes 
rattled,  the  gusts  moaned  in  the  chimney  above  the  fire 
place,  and  all  the  hundred  and  one  groanings  and  wail- 
ings,  the  complaints  of  an  old  house  in  a  storm,  devel 
oped.  All  these  sounds  Mary  heard  absently,  her  mind 
upon  her  work.  Then,  little  by  little  as  they  drew  nearer, 
she  became  conscious  of  other  sounds,  footfalls;  some 
one  was  coming  up  the  walk. 

She  did  not  rise  from  her  chair  nor  look  up  from  her 
work  when  the  outside  door  opened.  Even  when  the 
footsteps  sounded  in  the  little  hall  behind  her  she  did 
not  turn. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said.  "I  am  here,  and  I'm 
safe  and  I'm  perfectly  dry.  Also  I'm  very,  very  busy. 

394 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Now,  why  did  you  come  out  in  the  rain  to  hunt  me 
up?  And  I'm  quite  sure  you  haven't  put  on  your  rub 
bers." 

And  then  the  voice  behind  her  said :  "Mary." 

She  turned  now — turned,  looked,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 
Her  face  went  white,  then  flushed  red,  and  then  paled 
again. 

"Oh !"  she  gasped. 

Crawford  Smith  was  standing  there.  His  light  over 
coat — it  was  not  a  raincoat — dripped  water;  so  did  the 
hat  in  his  hand.  He  stood  there  and  looked — and 
dripped. 

"Mary,"  he  said  again. 

She  caught  her  breath,  almost  with  a  sob. 

"You!"  she  exclaimed.  "You!  Oh,  how  could  you? 
Why  did  you  come?" 

He  took  a  step  toward  her.  "Because  I  felt  that  I 
must,"  he  said.  "I  had  to  come.  I  came  to  see  you  once 
more.  You  must  forgive  me." 

She  did  not  speak.    He  continued: 

"You  must  forgive  me  for  coming,"  he  said  again. 
"There  was  a  question  I  had  to  ask  and  only  you  could 
answer  it.  It  isn't  the  question  I  asked  before,  although 

perhaps  that But  first  I  must  tell  you:  Mary,  my 

father  is  dead." 

She  nodded.  She  could  scarcely  trust  herself  to  speak, 
but  she  tried. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  faltered.    "I — I  know." 

"You  know?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Keith  told  us  this  morning.  He  said  he 
met  you  in  Boston." 

"Yes,  I  had  forgotten ;  so  he  did." 

"That  is  how  I  knew.  Oh,  Crawford,  I  am  so  sorry 
for  you.  I  have  been  writing  you.  But  why  did  you 

395 


MARY-'GUSTA 

come  here  again?  It — it  makes  it  so  much  harder  for — 
for  both  of  us." 

He  did  not  answer  the  question.  "You  knew  my 
father  was  dead,"  he  said  again.  "I  wonder" — he  was 
speaking  slowly  and  his  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  face — 
"I  wonder  how  much  more  you  know." 

She  started  back.  "How  much "  she  repeated. 

"How  much  more Oh,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  how  much  did  you  know  about  my  father 
when  you  and  I  were  together — when  I  came  on  here 
and  asked  you  to  marry  me?" 

She  put  a  hand  to  her  throat.  "Oh !"  she  cried  breath 
lessly.  "You  know!  He  told  you!" 

"Yes,  Mary,  he  told  me.  Before  he  died  he  told  me 
everything.  And  you  knew  it!  I  know  now  why  you 
would  not  marry  me — the  son  of  a  thief." 

She  looked  at  him  in  pained  astonishment.  The  tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes.  "Oh,  how  can  you !"  she  exclaimed. 
"How  can  you  say  that  to  me?  How  can  you  think  it? 
As  if  that  would  make  any  difference!  I  learned  your 
father's  name  and — and  what  he  had  done — by  accident. 
It  was  only  the  night  before  you  came.  It  would  have 
made  no  difference  to  me.  For  myself  I  didn't  care — 
but Oh,  Crawford,  how  can  you  think  it  was  be 
cause  he  was — that?" 

His  eyes  were  shining. 

"I  don't  think  it,"  he  cried  triumphantly.  "I  never 
have  thought  it,  Mary.  I  believe — ever  since  I  knew, 
I  have  dared  to  believe  that  you  sent  me  away  because 
you  were  trying  to  save  me  from  disgrace.  You  had 
learned  who  and  what  my  father  had  been  and  I  did  not 
know.  And  you  feared  that  if  you  married  me  the  se 
cret  might  come  out  and  I  would  be  ashamed,  my  career 
would  be  spoiled,  and  all  that.  I  have  dared  to  believe 

396 


MARY-'GUSTA 

this  and  that  is  why  I  came  back  to  you — to  ask  if  it  was 
true.    Can't  you  see  ?    I  had  to  come.    Is  it  true,  Mary  ?" 

He  came  toward  her.  She  would  have  run  away  if 
she  could,  but  there  was  nowhere  to  run. 

"Look  at  me,  Mary,"  he  commanded.  "Look  at  me, 
and  tell  me  this :  It  wasn't  because  you  didn't  love  me 
that  you  sent  me  away?  It  wasn't  really  that,  was  it? 
Tell  me  the  truth.  Look  at  me  now,  and  tell  me." 

She  tried  to  look  and  she  tried  to  speak,  but  her  glance 
faltered  and  fell  before  his  and  the  words  would  not 
come.  She  could  feel  the  blood  rushing  to  her  cheeks. 
She  put  up  her  hands  in  mute  protest,  but  the  protest 
was  unavailing.  His  arms  were  about  her,  his  kisses 
were  upon  her  lips,  and  he  was  telling  her  the  things 
which  are  told  in  times  like  these.  And  she  struggled  no 
longer,  but  permitted  herself  to  listen,  to  believe,  to  ac 
cept,  and  to  be  swept  away  by  the  wonderful  current  of 
love  and  destiny  against  which  she  had  fought  so  long. 

But  the  struggle  was  not  entirely  over.  She  made 
one  more  effort. 

"Oh,  Crawford !"  she  cried  a  little  later.  "Oh,  Craw 
ford,  dear,  this  is  all  wrong.  It  can't  be.  It  mustn't 
be.  Don't  you  see  it  mustn't?  We  have  forgotten  Un 
cle  Zoeth.  He  doesn't  know  whose  son  you  are.  If  he 
should  learn,  it  would  bring  back  the  old  story  and  the 
old  trouble.  He  isn't  well.  The  shock  might  kill  him." 

But  Crawford  merely  smiled. 

"He  does  know,  Mary,"  he  said.  "Father  wrote  him. 
I  shall  tell  you  the  whole  story  just  as  Dad  told  it  to 
me.  Heaven  knows  it  was  not  a  pleasant  one  for  a  son 
to  hear,  but  I  am  glad  I  heard  it.  The  past  was  bad, 
but  it  is  past.  You  and  I  have  the  future  for  our  own 
and  I  mean  to  make  it  a  clean  one  and  a  happy  one  for 
us  both,  God  willing." 

397 


MARY-'GUSTA 

Shadrach  came  up  the  path  to  the  tea-house,  leading 
Isaiah  by  the  arm.  Mr.  Chase  moved  reluctantly,  as  if 
led  to  execution  or,  at  the  very  least,  to  immediate  trial 
for  his  life. 

"Now  then,"  commanded  Shadrach,  "furl  that  um 
brella  and  come  along  in  here  with  me.  I  want  you  to 
make  Mary-'Gusta  understand  that  you've  told  me  the 
whole  business,  about  your  tellin'  her  the  Ed  Farmer 
yarn  and  all.  After  that  you  can  clear  out,  because  I 
want  to  talk  to  her  myself." 

He  opened  the  door  and,  still  holding  his  captive  by 
the  arm,  strode  into  the  parlor.  There  he  stood  stock 
still,  staring. 

Crawford  held  out  his  hand  and  the  Captain  found 
himself  shaking  it  warmly. 

"Captain  Gould,"  he  said,  "I  know  now  what  I  did 
not  know  until  two  weeks  ago,  how  greatly  my  father 
wronged  you  and  your  partners.  I  know  the  whole  mis 
erable  story.  But,  in  spite  of  it,  I  am  here  because  I 
love  Mary  and  I  want  to  marry  her.  She  has  told  me 
that  she  loves  me.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel  about  it, 
but  I  hope " 

The  Captain  interrupted.  "Wait  a  minute!"  he  or 
dered.  "Heave  to  and  come  up  into  the  wind  a  minute; 
let  me  get  my  bearin's.  Young  feller,  if  you're  goin'  to 

drop  down  out  of  the  skies  unexpected  like  this,  you 

Tut !  tut !  tut !  Whew !"  He  waited  a  moment,  then  he 
said: 

"Mary-'Gusta,  come  here." 

He  held  out  his  arms.  She  came  to  him  and  he  held 
her  close. 

"Is  it  so?"  he  asked.  "Do  you  care  for  this  young 
feller  enough  for  that?  Do  you,  Mary-'Gusta?" 

He  put  his  finger  beneath  her  chin  and  lifted  her  head 

398 


MARY-'GUSTA 

to  look  down  into  her  face.     The  face  was  crimson, 

"Do  you,  Mary-'Gusta  ?"  he  asked. 

Mary  looked  up,  wet-eyed  but  smiling. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Shad,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  do." 

"And  you  want  to  cruise  in  his  company  all  your 
life,  eh?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Shad;  but  not  unless  you  and  Uncle 
Zoeth  are  willing." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her. 

"Bless  your  heart,  dearie,"  he  said,  "it's  all  right. 
Zoeth  and  me  were  talkin'  about  this  very  thing  a 
little  while  ago.  And  do  you  know  what  he  said?  He 
said:  'What  wrecked  all  our  lives  thirty-five  year  ago 
shan't  wreck  these  two,  if  I  can  help  it.  If  Mary-'Gusta 
cares  for  him  and  he  for  her  they  shall  have  each  other 
and  be  happy.  And  we'll  be  happy  watchin'  their  hap 
piness.'  That's  what  he  said.  I  don't  know's  I  said 
'Amen'  exactly,  but  I  thought  it,  anyhow.  God  bless 
you,  Mary-'Gusta.  Now  you  and  Crawford  go  and  see 
your  Uncle  Zoeth.  He's  down  at  the  house.  You  just 
run  along  and  tell  him  about  it." 

Mary  turned  to  Mr.  Chase. 

"Well,  Isaiah,"  she  said,  "haven't  you  anything  to  say 
to  me?" 

Isaiah  looked  at  Crawford  and  then  at  her. 

"I  should  say  you'd  better  go  somewheres,  both  of 
you,  and  get  dry,"  he  said.  "His  overcoat's  soakin'  wet 
and  your  waist  ain't  much  better.  I — I — don't  know 
what  sort  of — of  congratulations  or — or  whatever  they  be 
I  ought  to  say,  but — but  I  hope  you'll  be  terrible  happy, 
Mary-'Gusta." 

"Thank  you,  Isaiah,"  laughed  Mary. 

"Yes,  you're  welcome.  Now,  just  let  me  talk  to  Cap'n 
Shad  a  minute." 

399 


MARY-'GUSTA 

He  swung  about  and  faced  the  Captain  and  in  his  eye 
*Aras  triumph  great  and  complete. 

"Cap'n  Shad  Gould,"  crowed  Isaiah,  "a  good  many 
times  in  the  last  four  or  five  year  you've  called  me  a 
fool  for  heavin'  out  hints  that  somethin'  about  like  this 
was  liable  to  happen.  Well?  Well?  What  have  you 
got  to  say  now?  Who's  the  fool  now?.  Hey?  Who  is?" 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE  story  of  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop  is  almost  told. 
Before  Crawford  left  South  Harniss,  which  was 
not  until  the  end  of  another  week,  it  had  been 
decided  that  on  a  day  in  June  of  the  following  year  she 
should  cease  to  be  Mary-'Gusta  Lathrop.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  discussion  before  this  decision  was  reached, 
for  many  perplexing  questions  had  to  be  answered. 

First,  there  was  the  question  of  Crawford's  future. 
His  father  had  left  a  comfortable  fortune  and  an  inter 
est  in  mining  properties  which  would  have  rendered  it 
quite  unnecessary  for  the  young  man  to  keep  on  with  his 
professional  studies  had  he  wished  to  discontinue  them. 
But  he  did  not  so  wish. 

"As  I  think  I  told  you  that  Sunday  afternoon  when 
we  first  met  at  Mrs.  Wyeth's,  Mary,"  he  said,  "I  have 
always  intended  to  be  a  doctor.  Dad  did  not  want  me 
to  be ;  he  wanted  me  to  come  in  with  him,  but  I  wouldn't 
do  it.  I  love  my  work  and  I  mean  to  stick  to  it  and  go 
on  with  it.  If  I  were  as  rich  as  a  dozen  Rockefellers  it 
wouldn't  make  any  difference.  But,  as  I  see  it,  I  am 
not  rich.  It  is  a  grave  question  in  my  mind  how  much 
of  that  money  out  there  belongs  to  me." 

Mary  nodded.  "I  think  I  understand  what  you 
mean,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  almost  all  of  my 
father's  money  was  made  there  in  the  West  after" — he 
hesitated  and  then  went  on — "after  the — the  other  died 
and  after  he  married  my  mother.  But  nevertheless  I 

401 


MARY-'GUSTA 

shall  always  feel  as  if  whatever  there  was  belonged  to 
your  uncles,  the  surviving  members  of  the  old  firm.  If 
I  could,  I  should  give  it  to  them." 

Mary  smiled.  "Thank  you  for  saying  it,  dear,"  she 
said,  "and  I  know  you  mean  it;  but  it  would  be  no  use 
to  offer;  they  wouldn't  take  it." 

"I  know  they  wouldn't.  So  we  must  try  and  make  it 
up  to  them  in  some  other  way.  But  suppose  we  leave 
that  for  a  time  and  get  back  to  my  work.  I'm  going  to 
keep  on  with  it;  I  want  to  and  you  say  that  you  want 
me  to." 

"I  do,  very  much.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happier  in 
that  work  than  in  any  other,  and  besides — I  suppose  I 
am  ever  so  unpractical,  but  I  do  feel  it — I  had  rather 
you  made  your  own  way.  Somehow  the  idea  of  our  de 
pending  upon  that  money  out  there  doesn't — doesn't 

Oh,  I  can't  explain  exactly,  but  I  don't  like  the  idea  a 
bit." 

"I  know.  I  prefer  to  paddle  my  own  canoe,  if  I  can. 
But  a  young  doctor's  canoe  is  likely  to  move  pretty 
slowly  at  first.  And  I  intend  taking  a  passenger,  you 
know,  and  I  want  her  to  be  comfortable." 

Mary  laughed,  a  contented  little  laugh.  "She  will  be," 
she  declared.  "Did  I  tell  you  of  the  talk  Uncle  Shad 
and  I  had  the  other  day?  He  saw  me  sitting  by  the 
dining-room  window  looking  out  at  nothing  in  particular 
— and  looking  silly  enough,  too,  I  dare  say — and  he 
asked  me  what  I  was  thinking.  I  said,  'Nothing  much/ 
which  wasn't  true,  and  he  said  nothing  must  be  good 
to  think  of,  I  looked  so  cheerful.  I  told  him  I  was. 
Then  I  asked  him — my  conscience  troubled  me  a  little, 
you  know — if  he  was  sure  that  he  and  Uncle 
Zoeth  were  happy,  because  I  shouldn't  be  unless  they 
were." 

402 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Well,  that  was  characteristic.  What  did  he  say  to 
that?" 

"Oh,  he  laughed  that  big  laugh  of  his  and  told  me 
not  to  worry.  Tm  feelin'  pretty  average  satisfied  with 
life  just  now,  Mary-'Gusta,'  he  said,  'and  as  for  Zoeth — 
well,  he  asked  me  this  mornin'  if  I  didn't  cal'late  'twas 
wicked  for  him  and  me  to  be  so  contented  with  the 
things  of  this  world,  so  I  know  he's  all  right.  When 
Zoeth  gets  real  happy  he  always  begins  to  feel  sinful.' 
I  hope  that  a  consciousness  of  sin  isn't  the  only  test  of 
happiness,"  she  added,  "because  I  don't  believe  you  feel 
wicked  the  least  bit.  At  least  you  have  never  said  you 
did." 

Crawford  laughed,  and  there  followed  one  of  those 
interruptions  to  conversation  with  which,  although  un 
doubtedly  interesting  to  the  participants,  outsiders  are 
not  supposed  to  be  concerned.  When  it  was  over  Mary 
said: 

"Of  course  I  am  not  so  foolish  as  to  mean  that  you 
must  not  touch  the  money  your  father  left.  That  would 
be  ridiculous.  But  I  mean  I  think  we  should  not  de 
pend  upon  it;  it  should  not  change  our  plans  or  spoil 
your  life  work,  or  anything  like  that.  It  will  make  life 
easier  for  us,  of  course,  and  with  its  help  we  can  make 
it  easier  for  other  people.  I  think  that  is  what  we 
should  do  with  it." 

"So  do  I,  my  dear.  And  our  first  duty,  it  seems  to  me, 
is  toward  your  uncles.  If  they  would  consent,  and  I 
suppose  there  isn't  the  least  chance  that  they  would,  I 
should  like  to  sell  out  the  store  and  the  Lookout  and 
the  rest  of  it  and  take  them  with  us,  wherever  we  de 
cide  to  go,  and  give  them  an  easy,  carefree  time  of  it  the 
rest  of  their  lives." 

Mary  shook  her  head.  "They  wouldn't  like  it  a  bit," 
403 


MARY-'GUSTA 

she  said.  "That  precious  old  store  is  the  joy  of  their 
lives.  Without  it  they  wouldn't  know  what  to  do;  they 
would  be  as  lost  and  lonesome  and  miserable  as  a  pair  of 
stray  kittens.  No,  if  we  take  care  of  them  we  must 
take  care  of  Hamilton  and  Company,  too.  And  we 
mustn't  let  them  know  we're  doing  it,  either,"  she  added 
with  decision. 

Crawford  looked  troubled.  "I  suppose  you're  right," 
he  said;  "but  it  is  likely  to  be  something  of  a  puzzle, 
their  problem.  It  will  mean,  of  course,  that  you  and  I 
must  go  and  leave  them." 

"Oh,  no,  we  can't  do  that — not  for  some  time,  at  any 
rate." 

"It  seems  to  me  we  must.  We  have  decided,  you  and 
I,  that  I  shall  go  back  West,  finish  my  preparatory  work, 
then  come  here  and  marry  you.  After  that — well,  after 
that  we  have  decided  that  I  am  to  locate  somewhere  or 
other  and  begin  to  practice  my  profession.  You'll  go 
with  me  then,  I  presume?" 

"Silly!    Of  course  I  will." 

"I  hoped  so.  But  if  we  can't  leave  your  uncles  and 
they  won't  leave  the  store,  what  are  we  going  to  do? 
Put  the  store  on  a  truck  and  take  it  with  us?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled.  "I  have  a  plan," 
she  said.  "I  haven't  quite  worked  it  out  yet,  but  if  it 
does  work  I  think  it's  going  to  be  a  very  nice  plan  in 
deed.  No,  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  what  it  is  yet,  so 
you  mustn't  tease.  You  don't  mind  my  planning  for  you 
and  bossing  you  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  do  you?  I 
hope  you  don't,  because  I  can't  help  it.  It's  the  way  I'm 
made,  I  think." 

"I  don't  mind.    Boss  away." 

"Oh,  I  shall.  I'm  like  that  Scotch  girl  in  the  play  Mrs. 
Wyeth  took  me  to  see  in  Boston — Bunty,  her  name  was. 

404 


MARY-'GUSTA 

She  made  me  think  of  myself  more  than  once,  although 
she  was  ever  so  much  more  clever.  At  the  end  of  the 
play  she  said  to  her  sweetheart,  'William,  I  must  tell 
ye  this:  if  I  marry  ye  I'll  aye  be  managin'  ye.'  She 
meant  she  couldn't  help  it.  Neither  can  I.  I'm  afraid 
I'm  a  born  manager." 

Crawford  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"Do  you  remember  William's  answer?"  he  asked.  "I 
do.  It  was:  'Bunty,  I'll  glory  in  my  shame.'  Manage 
all  you  like,  my  lady,  I'll  glory  in  it." 

The  plan  did  work  out  and  it  was  this :  Doctor  Har- 
ley,  who  had  practiced  medicine  for  forty-one  years  in 
South  Harniss,  was  thinking  of  retiring  after  two  more 
years  of  active  work.  He  was  willing  to  sell  out  his 
practice  at  the  end  of  that  time.  He  liked  Crawford, 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit 
to  the  town  when  he  was  a  guest  of  the  Keiths.  Craw 
ford,  after  Mary  had  suggested  the  idea  to  him,  called 
upon  the  old  doctor.  Before  the  end  of  the  week  it  was 
arranged  that  after  Crawford's  final  season  of  college  and 
hospital  work  he  was  to  come  to  South  Harniss,  work 
with  Doctor  Harley  as  assistant  for  another  year,  and 
then  buy  out  the  practice  and,  as  Captain  Shad  said,  "put 
up  his  own  shingle." 

"I  don't  mean  to  stay  here  always,"  Crawford  said, 
"but  it  will  do  me  good  to  be  here  for  a  time.  Harley's 
a  tiptop  old  chap  and  a  thoroughly  competent  general 
practitioner.  He'll  give  me  points  that  may  be  invaluable 
by  and  by.  And  a  country  practice  is  the  best  of  train 
ing." 

Mary  nodded.  "Yes,"  she  said.  "And  at  the  end  of 
this  winter  I  shall  have  Simeon  Crocker  well  broken  in 
as  manager  of  the  store.  And  I  can  sell  the  tea-room,  I 
think.  My  uncles  don't  care  much  for  that,  anyway. 

405 


MARY-'GUSTA 

They  will  be  perfectly  happy  with  the  store  to  putter 
about  in  and  with  Simeon  to  take  the  hard  work  and  care 
off  their  shoulders  they  can  putter  to  their  hearts'  con 
tent." 

"But  suppose  Simeon  doesn't  make  it  pay!"  suggested 
Crawford.  "That's  at  least  a  possibility.  Everyone  isn't 
a  Napoleon — I  should  say  a  Queen  Elizabeth — of  finance 
and  business  like  yourself,  young  lady." 

Mary's  confidence  was  not  in  the  least  shaken. 

"It  will  pay,"  she  said.  "If  the  townspeople  and  the 
summer  cottagers  don't  buy  enough — well,  you  and  I 
can  help  out.  There  is  that  money  in  the  West,  you 
know." 

He  nodded  emphatically. 

"Good !"  he  cried.  "You're  right.  It  will  be  a  chance 
for  us — just  a  little  chance.  And  they  will  never  know." 

He  went  away  at  the  end  of  the  week,  but  he  came 
back  for  Christmas  and  again  at  Easter  and  again  in  the 
latter  part  of  May.  And  soon  after  that,  on  a  day  in 
early  June,  he  stood,  with  Sam  Keith  at  his  elbow,  in  the 
parlor  of  the  white  house  by  the  shore,  while  Edna  Keith 
played  "Here  Comes  the  Bride"  on  the  piano  which  had 
been  hired  for  the  occasion ;  and,  with  her  hand  in  Zoeth's 
arm,  and  with  Captain  Shadrach  and  Barbara  Howe 
just  behind,  Mary  walked  between  the  two  lines  of 
smiling,  teary  friends  to  meet  him. 

It  was  a  lovely  wedding;  everyone  said  so,  and  as 
there  probably  never  was  a  wedding  which  was  not 
pronounced  lovely  by  friends  and  relatives,  we  may  be 
doubly  certain  of  the  loveliness  of  this.  And  there 
never  was  a  more  beautiful  bride.  All  brides  are  beau 
tiful,  more  or  less,  but  this  one  was  more.  Isaiah,  who 
had  been  favored  with  a  peep  at  the  rehearsal  on  the 

406 


MARY-'GUSTA 

previous  evening,  was  found  later  on  by  Shadrach  in 
the  kitchen  in  a  state  of  ecstatic  incoherence. 

"I  swan  to  godfreys!"  cried  Isaiah.  "Ain't — ain't 
she  an  angel,  though !  Did  you  ever  see  anything  pret- 
tier'n  she  is  in  them  clothes  and  with  that — that  mo- 
skeeter  net  on  her  head?  An  angel — yes,  sir-ee!  one 
of  them  cherrybins  out  of  the  Bible,  that's  what  she  is. 
And  to  think  it's  our  Mary-'Gusta!  Say,  Cap'n  Shad, 
will  checkered  pants  be  all  right  to  wear  with  my  blue 
coat  tomorrow  ?  I  burnt  a  hole  in  my  lavender  ones  tryin' 
to  press  the  wrinkles  out  of  'em.  And  I  went  down  to 
the  wharf  in  'em  last  Sunday  and  they  smell  consider'ble 
of  fish,  besides." 

The  wedding  company  was  small,  but  select.  Judge 
Baxter  and  his  wife  were  there  and  the  Keiths — Mrs. 
Keith  condescended  to  ornament  the  occasion;  some  of 
the  "best  people"  had  seen  fit  to  make  much  of  Mary 
Lathrop  and  Mrs.  Keith  never  permitted  herself  to  be 
very  far  behind  the  best  people  in  anything — and  Mrs. 
Wyeth  was  there,  and  Miss  Pease,  and  Mr.  Green  who 
had  received  an  invitation  and  had  come  from  Boston, 
and  Doctor  Harley,  and  Simeon  Crocker  and  his  "steady 
company,"  one  of  the  tea-room  young  ladies,  and  Anna 
bel  and — and — well,  a  dozen  or  fifteen  more. 

When  the  minister  asked,  "Who  giveth  this  woman  to 
this  man?"  Zoeth  answered,  bravely,  "I  do — that  is,  me 
and  Shadrach."  But  no  one  laughed,  because  Zoeth  him 
self  was  trying  to  smile  and  making  rather  wet  weather 
of  it.  As  for  the  Captain,  his  expression  during  the  cere 
mony  was  a  sort  of  fixed  grin  which  he  had  assumed  be 
fore  entering  the  room  and  had  evidently  determined  to 
wear  to  the  finish,  no  matter  what  his  emotions  might 
be.  But  Miss  Pease,  always  susceptible,  had  a  delightful 
cry  all  to  herself,  and  Isaiah,  retiring  to  the  hall,  blew 

407 


MARY-'GUSTA 

his  nose  with  a  vigor  which,  as  Captain  Shad  said  after 
wards,  "had  the  Pollack  Rip  foghorn  soundin'  like  a  deef 
and  dumb  sign." 

Mary  had  managed  everything,  of  course.  Her  uncles 
had  tried  to  remonstrate  with  her,  telling  her  there  were 
plenty  of  others  to  arrange  the  flowers  and  attend  to  what 
the  local  newspaper  would,  in  its  account  of  the  affair,  be 
sure  to  call  the  "collation,"  and  to  make  the  hundred  and 
one  preparations  necessary  for  even  so  small  and  simple 
a  wedding  as  this.  But  she  only  laughed  at  their  remon 
strances. 

"I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  anything,"  she  said.  "I  have 
always  wanted  to  manage  someone's  wedding  and  I  am 
certainly  not  going  to  let  anyone  else  manage  mine.  I 
don't  care  a  bit  whether  it  is  the  proper  thing  or  not. 
This  isn't  going  to  be  a  formal  affair ;  I  won't  have  it  so. 
Uncle  Shad,  if  you  want  to  say  'Jiimpin'  fire'  when  Craw 
ford  drops  the  ring,  as  he  is  almost  sure  to  do,  you  have 
my  permission." 

But  Crawford  did  not  drop  the  ring,  and  so  the  Cap 
tain's  favorite  exclamation  was  not  uttered,  being  un 
necessary.  In  fact  there  were  no  mishaps,  everything 
went  exactly  as  it  should,  reception  and  "collation"  in 
cluded,  and,  to  quote  from  the  South  Harniss  local  once 
more,  "A  good  time  was  had  by  all." 

And  when  the  bride  and  groom,  dressed  in  their  travel 
ing  costumes,  came  down  the  stairs  to  the  carriage  which 
was  to  take  them  to  the  station,  Mary  ran  back,  amid  the 
shower  of  rice  and  confetti,  to  kiss  Uncle  Zoeth  and 
Uncle  Shad  once  more  and  whisper  in  their  ears  not  to 
feel  that  she  had  really  gone,  because  she  hadn't  but 
would  be  back  in  just  a  little  while. 

"And  I  have  told  Isaiah  about  your  rubbers  and  oil 
skins  when  it  rains,"  she  added,  in  Shadrach's  ear,  "and 

408 


MARY-'GUSTA 

he  is  not  to  forget  Uncle  Zoeth's  medicine.     Good-by. 
Good-by.    Don't  be  lonesome.    Promise  that  you  won't." 

But  to  promise  is  easy  and  to  keep  that  promise  is 
often  hard,  as  Shadrach  observed  when  he  and  Zoeth 
were  alone  in  the  sitting-room  that  evening.  "I  feel  as 
if  the  whole  vitals  of  this  place  had  gone  away  on  that 
afternoon  train,"  the  Captain  admitted.  "And  yet  I  know 
it's  awful  foolish,  'cause  she'll  only  be  gone  a  couple  of 
weeks." 

"I'm  glad  that  question  about  the  name  is  settled," 
mused  Zoeth.  "That  kind  of  troubled  me,  that  did." 

The  partners  had  worried  not  a  little  over  the  question 
of  whether  Crawford's  name  was  legally  Smith  or 
Farmer.  If  it  were  Farmer  and  he  must  be  so  called  in 
South  Harniss,  they  feared  the  revival  of  the  old  scandal 
and  all  its  miserable  gossip.  But  when  they  asked  Craw 
ford  he  reassured  them. 

"I  consulted  my  lawyer  about  that,"  he  said.  "My 
father's  middle  name  was  Smith ;  that  is  why  he  took  it, 
I  suppose.  Edwin  Smith  is  not  so  very  different  from 
Edgar  Smith  Farmer,  shorter,  that's  all.  He  and  my 
mother  were  married  under  the  name  of  Smith.  Mother 
never  knew  he  had  had  another  name.  I  was  born  Smith 
and  christened  Smith  and  my  lawyer  tells  me  that  Smith 
I  am.  If  there  had  been  any  question  I  should  have  peti 
tioned  to  have  the  name  changed." 

So  that  question  was  settled  and  Shadrach  and  Zoeth 
felt  easier  because  of  it. 

"Zoeth,"  observed  Shadrach,  after  replying  to  his 
friend's  remark  concerning  the  name,  "do  you  know  what 
I  kind  of  felt  as  if  we'd  ought  to  have  had  here  this  after 
noon  ?" 

"No,  Shadrach,"  replied  Zoeth,  "I  don't.  What  was 
it?" 

409 


MARY-'GUSTA 

"Seemed  to  me  we'd  ought  to  had  one  of  them  music 
box  chairs.  I'd  like  to  have  put  it  under  that  Keith 
woman  and  seen  her  face  when  the  Campbells  started  to 
come.  Ho,  ho!" 

"What  in  the  world  made  you  think  of  that?"  de 
manded  his  partner. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Thinkin'  about  Mary-'Gusta,  I 
cal'late,  set  me  to  rememberin'  how  we  fust  met  her  and 
about  Marcellus's  funeral  and  all.  That  made  me  think 
of  the  chair,  you  see.  I  ain't  thought  of  it  afore  for 
years." 

Zoeth  nodded.  "Shadrach,"  he  said,  "that  was  a 
blessed  day  for  you  and  me,  the  day  when  we  brought 
that  child  home  in  our  old  buggy.  The  Lord  put  her 
there,  Shadrach." 

"Well,  I  guess  likely  he  did,  maybe,  in  a  way  of  speak- 
in'.  Does  seem  so,  that's  a  fact." 

"Our  lives  was  pretty  sot  and  narrow  afore  she  came. 
She's  changed  everything." 

"That's  so,  Hello!  What's  that  noise?  I  declare 
if  it  ain't  Isaiah  liftin'  up  his  voice  in  song!  In  a  hymn 
tune !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

From  the  kitchen,  above  the  rattle  of  dishes,  Mr. 
Chase's  nasal  falsetto  quavered  shrilly: 

"There  shall  be  showers  of  blessin's " 

The  Captain  interrupted. 

"Hi,  you — what's  your  name — Jennie  Lind — come  in 
here,"  he  hailed. 

Mr.  Chase  appeared,  his  arms  dripping  soapsuds. 

"What  do  you  want,  callin'  me  out  of  my  name?"  he 
demanded. 

"Want  to  know  what  started  you  singin'  about  bless 
410 


MARY-'GUSTA 

in's?  Fust  I  thought  'twas  the  weathervane  squeakin*. 
What  tuned  you  up,  eh?" 

Isaiah  looked  rather  foolish,  but  he  grinned. 

"I  was  thinkin'  about  Mary-'Gusta,"  he  said. 

"You  was,  eh  ?  Well,  she's  been  a  blessin'  to  us,  there's 
no  doubt  about  that." 

"Indeed  she  has,"  concurred  Zoeth. 

But  Isaiah  had  the  final  word. 

"Huh!"  he  declared,  "she's  more'n  one  blessin',  she's 
a  whole  shower.  That's  what  set  me  to  singin'  about 
'em." 

He  departed  for  the  kitchen  once  more,  the  falsetto 
rising  triumphant: 

[*  "     -* 

"There  shall  be  showers  of  blessin's, 
Send  'em  upon  us,  oh  Lord !" 

Captain  Shad  looked  after  him.  Then  he  turned  to 
his  friend  and  partner  and  said  earnestly: 

"Do  you  know,  Isaiah's  gettin'  real  kind  of  sensible 
in  his  old  age." 

(i) 


gks     b 


1736  net  /   65" 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000063907 


